


through a window

by WritingOnTheWalls



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Canon-typical Character 'death', Canon-typical Grief and Loss, Drug and Alcohol Misuse, F/F, F/M, Found Families, Homophobic slurs (implied), Kissing, Lovers, M/M, Manipulation, Musicals, Pining after dead people, Run On Sentences, Secret Relationships, Spoilers for uh most of KFAM. I warned you okay???, Therapy, There's dialogue in this one (be proud), This has gotten way longer than anticipated (sorrynotsorry), Toxic Relationships, Vague thoughts of 'what if dear evan hansen', Various Mental Illnesses, pals, regularly scheduled sibling infighting, sad people being sad, seriously there are so many of them, so many references and literally no shame, violence and abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingOnTheWalls/pseuds/WritingOnTheWalls
Summary: dear sammy stevens, today is going to be a good day, and here's why ...





	1. beginnings and endings

It starts off as something almost entirely innocent.  
It’s 5am, and Ben can’t sleep, so he texts Sammy and they meet in The Usual Spot twenty minutes later.  
  
Summer has barely begun, and it’s their last _real_ one, before they leave this place and possibly never return, so they want to make the absolute most of it. Even if it’s 5am, and Betty would have both of their heads on matching pikes if she knew.

The morning air is chilly, and Sammy’s a little too-cold as he’s opted for shorts in preparation for the eventual awakening of the sun. Ben’s wearing his favourite red hoodie, because after 17 years in this place, he still hasn’t learned how to pre-judge the weather.  
  
There’s a giant tree at the back of The Usual Spot, and Ben clambers up without a word, stopping only to peek down at Sammy from half-way up. Sammy rolls his eyes, understanding the invitation, as he does most of the unspoken things between them.  
  
There are too many unspoken things, if Sammy’s being honest (he always tries to be, it usually doesn’t work.)  
  
It’s a struggle, but five minutes later, they’re watching the sun rise off in the distance, when Ben breaks the silence for the first time that morning.  
  
“I had that dream again,” he mutters, barely audible. If Sammy hadn’t been anticipating those exact words, he might’ve missed them.

As it is, he doesn’t reply, just reaches on a hand and places it on his friend’s ankle in silent solidarity.  
It’s peaceful, for the most part. Usually is when it’s only the two of them.  
  
They understand more than they probably should.

* * *

Twenty more minutes pass, then forty. They barely move, let alone speak. The shine is shining brightly now, slowly heating up the world around them. A dog barks somewhere in the distance, but still, they sit.

Ben is clearly becoming uncomfortable in his thick hoodie, but apart from some slight squirming, he’s rather still.  
  
Ben is a lot, most of the time. He’s loud, and always laughing, his face the personification of a thousand-worded picture. But in these moments, it all melts a way.  
  
Ben is a lot, but most of all, he is afraid.  
  
Sammy understands that all too well.

* * *

It’s nearing midday when they retreat from their perch. Ben’s stomach growling had been the only thing pushing them to leave. Sammy supposes that other people probably would’ve been bored of doing absolutely nothing for hours upon hours, but he’s grateful for the time to think.  
  
His life is so full of thinking - about math problems, and about his grandmother, and about the parents who never cared enough to stay. He thinks about the direction his future is hopefully going to take (and all the ones he wishes it wouldn’t, but likely will.) He thinks about his weekend job at Rose’s, and wonders if she’ll shout them a late breakfast if he works back a few hours.  
  
He smiles at the thought of Rose denying Sammy anything. Unthinkable.

The quiet hours with Ben are for different thoughts, but he’ll allow himself the usual ones for now.  
  
Ben notices the grin on his face, and pointedly moves his face so that they match.

His life is full of thinking, too. About girls, and medication and ways to pretend he’s alright and about how much more he can take of forcing himself to be something he’s not. This usually isn’t the case when he’s with Sammy, but soon, he won’t just be.  
  
A few miles later, they’re humming a stupid jingle about Pomchi’s that Ben had heard on the radio, and Ben is literally bouncing with joy.  
The air is heavy with laughter, and summer and happiness.  
  
This will be destroyed in mere moments, but first, let’s travel back an hour to the other side of town, where Jack and Lily are standing in their parents kitchen, thick in the heat of an argument.  
  
“It’s always same with you,” Jack is yelling, waving his arms around as though to emphasise his point, “You’re 17 Lily, we both are. You don’t need weed, you don’t need alcohol, and you don’t need those idiots you call ‘friends’ either.”  
  
Lily, ever the dramatic one, matches his exaggerated actions, although her voice is notably more aggressive. “Maybe you would feel differently if you had friends, Wright.”

“Don’t call me Wr-“  
“I’ll call you whatever I damned well want,” she snaps back, “even if I should be calling you Wrong!”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever- “

“Takes one to fucking know one!”  
“Swearing doesn’t make you _tough_ Lily.”

“Being on the Wendigo’s doesn’t make you _interesting_ Jack”

This argument goes on for quite a while longer. It carries on to the bathroom, where Jack angrily brushes his teeth and Lily attempts to shove her hair into something resembling a pony tail. It carries on through the walls of their neighbouring bedrooms as they shove on outside clothes and grab their backpacks. It carries back through the kitchen as they both shove varying pieces of fruit into their backpacks and mouths, and it carries down the street and into the woods, where it promptly interrupts one singing Ben Arnold, and his best friend Sammy Stevens.

None of them are quite sure what happens next.  
One minute, Ben is twirling for Sammy’s amusement, pancake puppies and maple syrup heavy on his mind. The next, Sammy is on the floor, in the worst pain of his entire life.

His eyes are so heavy with tears, ears ringing with a combination of pain and screaming (his own and all three observers) that he can’t interpret any of what’s going on around him in a way that makes sense.  
Lily will swear that it was all Jack’s fault, either for being a dumb j _ock_ , or a dum _b_ _boy_ , and Jack will swear that it was all Lily’s fault for having such a _big dumb head_ and subsequently blocking his view and altering his sense of judgement.

Ben blames himself, completely, but Sammy knows there’s nobody to blame but himself. Himself and his big **dumb** hero complex, and need to protect Ben at all costs.

  
He doesn’t hear the ambulance sirens or see the panicked expression on Ben’s face. He doesn’t see the awkward angle his arm is bent in, and he doesn’t see the look of absolute horror mirrored on Jack and Lily’s face as they realise what they’ve done.

He doesn’t even register that they were present at all. It’s only hours later, as Ben is excitedly regaling the tale to Betty in a room at King Falls hospital that Sammy hears the name ‘Jack Wright’ and thinks only one thing.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, look there’s some dialogue this time???  
> It’s the King Falls / Dear Evan Hansen AU that absolutely nobody wanted or asked for! Yay! Somebody needs to take the keyboard away from me!  
> This chapter is purposefully short, sorry!  
> This is uh, not going to be exactly the same as the musical obvs, because that’s no fun. But I have PLANS, which I will inevitably not stick to, but I HAVE THEM.  
> I have 0 idea how long this will be, but I’m going to churn this shit out as fast as humanly possible, most likely at 5am because hello. Get ready to be here for the long haul, friends!  
> Lemme know what you thought, thanks for reading, and I’ll hopefully be back shortly with more!!


	2. more likely than not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flashbacks, childhood trauma, a confession.  
> intrigue, idiots and crushes.

To understand the nuances of Sammy’s panicked internal dialogue, it’s imperative that we jump backwards in time to observe a much younger Sammy Stevens.

We’ll pick a day. It could be any day, really. But let’s go with the first day of summer, 12 years ago.  
Sammy Stevens, a not-quite-six year old is wearing his favourite blue t-shirt, a pair of sandals that he’s long since outgrown, and a look of unadulterated glee that rarely graces his features in the era of our current predicament.  
  
He’s hardly the tallest in his class, but he has lost the largest number of his baby teeth, a fact that he will bring into any conversation with pride. He’s spent the morning watching cartoon robots wage a fierce war on humans, and is looking forward to recreating it with his new friend-from school Ben this afternoon. After that, they might even skip rocks on the lake, an activity Ben’s Mom had promised to indulge them in after almost a week of begging.  


That’s not why we’re here.

Sammy’s been asked to play on the front porch, and since he’s always eager to please his mother, he’s rushed outside without waiting for an explanation. His dad had been home, which was admittedly unusual, and Sammy busied himself with finding his bicycle helmet. He’s so close to not even needing training wheels anymore, and knows for certain his dad will be proud.  
  
He almost doesn’t notice the yelling. Maybe part of him is used to it by now.  
  
He almost doesn’t notice the crashes and bumps. Maybe that’s because he doesn’t want them to be real.  
  
It’s not easy to miss the shaking of the window panes and the slamming of the door, though.  
Harder to not see his dad appearing suddenly on the porch.  
Impossible not to hear the disdain, not to cry out, not to see the look of hatred, not to feel his slender body hit the wall with a resounding thud.

He pretends he can’t see his mother’s tears.  
Pretends his leg doesn’t hurt and his face isn’t bleeding.

Pretends he can’t hear the words that punctuate the air right before father drives off.  
Pretends it doesn’t matter when he doesn’t ever come back.

Pretends he can cope when a year later, his mother does the same.

He pretends, he pretends, he pretends.  
He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to stop.

* * *

After that, Sammy moves in with his grandmother. She doesn’t tell him what’s happened to his mother, but he knows anyway.  
He’s lucky, he supposes.  
He could be all alone, but she loves him.  
  
She buys him books when he shyly gets up the courage to ask, and she lets him watch programs with trucks in them, and doesn’t even complain. She makes him his favourite breakfast of berries and oats every morning, and somehow her love makes it taste all the more sweeter. Not quite sweet enough to rid his mouth of the bitter taste of all he’s lost. But almost.

She doesn’t understand his math equations or let him play video games, but he has Ben for those things anyway.

He’d expected Ben to be his friend forever, with all the innocence of a child who has yet to experience the fragility of life, but he’d had his doubts.  
If even his Dad would leave, then what chance did he have?

He went the whole summer without mentioning it to Ben. They always played at The Arnold’s anyway, or down by the lake. Sammy’s dad had always been working, what did it matter if he wasn’t at home anymore? What was the difference.

School was harder.  
They started second grade that year, and it took a whole three days for Sammy to leave the classroom in tears.

Ben, ever the dutiful friend, had followed. His picture of his family could wait, he was certain the teacher wouldn’t mind. He would even happily do it for homework if there was an issue, which, for Ben, was honestly the biggest gesture his tiny heart could’ve made.

He found Sammy curled up in the shade under one of the trees towards the back of the playground. He was still sobbing, tiny fists curled up into balls, pawing hopelessly at the tears running down his puffy red cheks.

“I know you’re not very good at drawing,” Ben had said, joining him on the ground, “but there’s no need to run away because of it.”

Sammy had stopped crying and looked inquisitively up at his friend. Ben was slightly taller, and their position had made Sammy feel powerless, but surely he was just confused. He hesitated for a second, before asking Ben what he meant by that.   
  
“The picture for Mrs Jensen! You’re bad at drawing, so you got upset. Not everybody can be an artist like me, but it’s okay! I can help.” Ben explained all this is a steady determination, and as matter of factly as he could muster.

Sammy was torn between denial, laughing and pushing his friend away in anger. Instead, he decided to tell Ben the truth. He trained his eyes on the ground, and spoke.  
  
“My dad left.”

“Oh.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Oh.”

“Nobody loves me.”  


Ben had been surprised that the conversation had taken this particular turn, and was, for once in his life, almost entirely speechless. But at that, Ben stood up, hands placed firmly on his hips and stomped his feet in exasperation.  
“Sammy Stevens, if you think nobody loves you, then we can’t be friends anymore!” He thrust his nose in the air, and with a small ‘hmph!’ waited for his friend’s inevitable agreeance.

  
Sammy blinked.

He blinked once. Then twice. He was half way through a third blink before Ben noticed the confused expression on his face. He sighed deeply and re-joined his friend, placing a hand on his knee and smiling as kindly as he could muster.

“My dad left too, Sammy.”

Somehow, that thought had never even crossed Sammy’s mind. He knew that Ben didn’t have a dad, of course. There were only ever two sets of shoes, two jackets, and two bowls in the sink at Ben’s house. He’d met and loved Ben’s mom, of course, and she always looked happy.  
How could she be happy if she didn’t have Ben’s dad to make her so?

Ben and Sammy sat in a silence for a few minutes, each processing the situation to the best of their ability. It was Ben who eventually spoke.

“He has another family now, another Me too. But I have my Mom so what does it matter. I’m happy.” Ben smiled. “I have you too, of course.”  
Sammy frowned at that.  
“You have me too, y’know.” Sammy still hadn’t said anything, so Ben took his hand and stared seriously into his eyes with an intensity no other child could hope to match.  
“You’re my brother, and I love you more than any dad ever could.”  
  
Sammy hoped desperately that that could be enough.

* * *

Life continued.   
For many years, it really was enough.

Sammy and Ben had continued spending most of their time together, along with a steady stream of various other children. They practically lived in each other’s houses, and despite their teacher’s best efforts to the contrary, insisted they be in all the same classes sat in the exact same desks. They even managed to get the same part-time job at Rose’s, although Ben had quit due to excessive theatre commitments.

There’d been hard times, of course. Life wasn’t easy for anybody in King Falls.  
When Sammy’s mother had left, he’d refused to leave his new room for a week, until Ben had appeared with cookies he had spent all afternoon baking (and burning) and pleaded with him to taste them. They’d been terrible, but it had warmed Sammy’s heart all the same.

Sammy had held hands with Ben at the funeral of each of his friend’s pet goldfish, solemnly attempting prayers and even singing hymns he’d occasionally heard on TV.   
  
Betty had taken them to pick out a cat that year, and they were proud co-owners of Peas who spent most of his life napping or hiding from the two excitable children, who found nothing more exciting than making her flee their presence.

Sammy had had front row seats to Ben’s first big show as Danny Zuko, and only laughed a little bit when he ran off the stage crying (although he glared at anybody he saw doing so afterwards. He was the only one allowed to make fun of Ben, thank you very much.)

Ben would awkwardly tell Sammy about every crush he had (which was practically every girl who ever looked twice at him) and Sammy would egg him on and never even bring up the fact he was having some complicated feelings about that himself.  
  
They studied their way through every test, and Sammy somehow made it through math and gym without too much hassle. Ben failed one or two tests over the years, but Sammy never had any trouble helping him forget (and Betty was never too mad about it.)  
  
Ben had started therapy in solidarity with Sammy, and only stopped attending after Sammy had insisted that he was capable. He kept the office's number on speed dial though, just in case.   


They’d held each other under a table the day a freak accident had killed two girls in their graduating class, and rolled their eyes at the people who attempted to make fun of them for it.  
They watched way too many bad horror movies and cheesy sitcoms, curled up under Sammy’s favourite red woollen blanket, and Ben didn’t even tease him when he cried way too hard over the ending of _When Harry Met Sally_ after their 9th grade prom _._

There was only one real problem though. A secret that Sammy held close to his heart at all times.  
Something he viewed as worse than all those things. Worse than cringe worthy hair cuts and incessant bullying, and failed book reports and parents who didn’t try hard enough.  
  
And it all started with one Jack Wright.

* * *

Sammy had always felt different. He wouldn’t deny that.  
He’d always put it down to stunted emotional growth, or childhood trauma, or the fact that he viewed himself as so much more intelligent than all the simpletons around him.

But it was when Ben started talking about girls, that was when it clicked.  
  
Sammy didn’t like girls.  
  
Sammy liked Ben.  
  
Ben would talk excitedly about the way Mandy had smiled at him, or the way Katie had laughed at his joke about Danger Noodles, or about how Maggie had let him copy her geography homework when he’d left his notebook at home.  
He would flail his arms and describe in detail the way his stomach twisted, and Sammy noticed the way his face lit up, and his eyes shone, and just how utterly _Ben_ it made him.

Then, when Sammy was by himself, he would look in the mirror and think of Ben, and see that same look reflected back on his own features and his stomach would fall. He would take note of every time they held hands, start to feel odd every time they would lay in bed and talk about their future together, couldn’t shake the nervous flutter of his stomach every time Ben kissed him gently on the cheek.

He would wake up in a sweat because he’d been dreaming about Ben’s lips on his neck and his hands in his pants, and he would be unable to look him in the eye for a week.

He didn’t know when that had changed. He just knew he didn’t like it.  
This was so much more than just not telling Ben about his dad. This could actually destroy their friendship. Everything he had in life was dependant upon his friendship with Ben. Acting on some stupid feelings that obviously were just some confused, misdirected hormones wouldn’t help anybody.

He especially knew this to be the case, when Ron Begley – a boy a few years their senior – was suspended from school for punching a boy who had dared call him a _fag._

Sure, Ben had been outraged on behalf of Ron, and been first in line to join the protest at the principal’s office, but Sammy knew he was different.  
  
He wasn’t Ron, who was popular and handsome and intelligent. He was just Sammy. Plain, ordinary, unlovable.

If people like Ron couldn’t get away with it, how did Sammy have even a flicker of a chance?

* * *

Almost exactly a year before our present day, Jack and Lily Wright had moved to King Falls. 

Everybody had seen their names on the following year’s class lists, but nobody knew any more about then than the scarce glimpses of them they had caught at the various grocery stores and clothing outlets over the summer.  
  
They were twins, supposedly. They had dark hair, and tanned skin. Jack’s eyes were oval shaped, and his smile wider, but Lily had a kind of defiant grace that let people know she was totally in control of every situation she found herself in, and if you even thought about changing that, she wouldn’t hesitate to punch you in the face.  
  
When they showed up to school that first day, though, something shifted.   
  
King Falls was a town where not much changed, really. Everybody knew everybody, and the hierarchical structure of high school was set from the moment each child stepped into their pre-school classes.

People were generally friendly enough, but cliques ruled everything. The popular kids were popular, the losers were losers, and that was how it always had been.

Jack and Lily were something else, though. The two of them were intelligent beyond belief. They rocketed to the top of every class within the week, making up for the differences in curriculum in no time at all.  
They were funny, too. Not in the haughty, mean way so many of their classmates were – they didn’t disrupt the teachers or bully people for the hell of it, but they had sharp tongues, and an excellent measure of character, which when mixed with their dry wit rarely had anybody not in stitches.  
  
They were beautiful, too. Nobody could deny that.

Everybody loved them. And when Jack had landed himself on the football team without even breaking a sweat, it seemed as though the two could literally do no wrong.

Except, apparently, they could.  
It had taken a month and a half, but they had each been suspended for fighting in school.  
  
Or, well. For fighting each other in school.  
  
Nobody knew how it had happened, who had made the first snide comment, or who had thrown the first punch, but it had resulted in a chaos like the school had never seen before. 

Lily’s dress had been ripped, and Jack was missing a large chunk of his hair, but after a week’s suspension, they returned to school as though nothing had even happened.

They ate lunch together, sat together in classes, and studied in the library after school.  
They teased each other relentlessly, and sang loudly and offkey for the school talent show, and every speck of malice that had been seemingly present during that tense afternoons fight had been wiped clean – so much so that it was as though it had never been there at all.

It was unlike anything Sammy and Ben had witnessed in their lifetime. How was it possible for them to be so calm after something so terrible? They spent many afternoons discussing the twins, contemplating their motive, debating their popularity and wondering just why they’d moved to King Falls in the first place. This went on for months, even after they had long exhausted every angle of the conversation.

Jack hadn’t seemed to lay another hair out of line, and after a string of spectacular wins on the football field, had become the school darling. But it wasn’t long before Lily was found with a small packet of weed in her locker.  
The suspension that time was a little worse, and by the time it was over, Jack had made other friends.

They still spent most of their time together, but when they didn’t it seemed to Ben and Sammy that something deeper than a disdain for recreational drugs was stirring between them.  
  
They’d never really spoken to either of them, and to be entirely honest, they didn’t feel the need to. They had enough friends, but most of all they had each other. Jack and Lily were interesting to talk about, but talking to them was a different story. They had enough hanger-ons, and it wasn’t as though they made a conscious effort to talk to Sammy and Ben anyway. Most of their friends were so unlike them as to be unpleasant anyway.

Besides, if he thought about it long enough, Sammy realised he felt strange around Jack most of the time. Something was different about the other boy, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was.

* * *

Troy was a different story.  
He’d been friends with Ben once upon a time, but for a reason they both refused to talk about, this had ceased entirely.  
  
He was reasonably popular though. He had a smile for everybody and was always ready to lend a hand to anybody who needed it, and therefore was reasonably invincible in regards to targeted bullying. His popularity and general goodwill meant that he was often trying to bridge gaps within his peers, and hellbent on convincing them to spend as much time as they could together, before they lost the chance forever.  
  
One such event fell towards the end of each year – his birthday.  
He would throw enormous parties, which had ranged wildly throughout the years, but mostly were held at his best friend Emily’s house. She was reasonably well off, and to put it plainly, Troy was not.  
She had no problem offering her house for a good cause, though, and almost as eager to help a friend as Troy himself was.  
  
Which is how Sammy and Ben had ended up on the front porch of Emily’s house that night.  
Ben’s antagonization with the other boy usually meant that they skipped these events. Sammy didn’t mind, he preferred the quiet time with Ben anyway. But Ben had decided, in his usual fashion, that he was madly in love with Emily. So, they had a problem.

He had argued fiercely with himself for two weeks, Sammy half heartedly nodding in agreement. He didn’t understand the hatred, but wasn’t about to get Ben all riled up. It made his heart do strange things, for more reasons than one.  
Eventually, Ben had decided they would be attending, and Sammy had agreed, as expected.

* * *

Ben had spent the day stressing over his outfit, which Sammy had found especially strange, seeing how their school lacked a dress code, so the venn diagram of party attire and school attire (and thus, the entirely of Ben’s wardrobe and potential clothing Emily could see him wearing) was a perfect circle.

Not that Emily was the kind of girl who cared about things like clothing. Sammy didn’t know her well, but she spent much more time with her nose in a book than worrying about things like how much Ben’s jumper had cost.

It was cold. The outfit Ben had settled on was nowhere near warm enough, and he had sanctimoniously stolen Sammy’s scarf three streets away. (Sammy was prepared for this, however, and had slipped an extra one in his backpack for later.)

They knocked three times, and waited.

And waited.

Ben was getting impatient, bouncing on the soles of his feet and checking his watch.

“Maybe we got the night wrong?” Sammy suggested, and Ben bit his lip and shook his head.  
“It’s all anybody’s been talking about for weeks, surely – “  
  
He didn’t finish his sentence, for being interrupted by a car screeching around the corner, horn blaring, headlights flashing wildly.

The song pumping out of the speakers was completely obnoxious, a perfect description for the group of boys who proceeded to tumble out of the car, hooting and hollering.  
  
“Frickard.” Was all Ben said, gritting his teeth, and Sammy sighed. Now there was a hatred he could get behind.  
  
Aforementioned Frickard was on the football team… Somehow. As far as Ben was concerned, he had no talent for the sport, (or anything else, really) and he had simply bought his way onto the field each season.  
Sammy didn’t blame him for that opinion. Frickard had taken a particular disliking to Ben and Sammy in third grade, potentially linked to the time Ben had ‘accidentally’ spilled a carton of chocolate milk on his favourite frog sweater.  
Sammy believed it to have _actually_ been an accident, but there was no way Ben would ever admit that the tantrum that had followed had been brought about by an action that was anything but intentional.

He had currently become increasingly public with his expressions of affection towards one Miss Emily Potter, and his friends were all too eager to egg him on.

Sammy didn’t care enough to memorise the other boy’s names. They all sounded as pretentious as the people who owned them were, and he had no room in his brain to bother memorising them.  
  
Strangely though, he knew he name of the boy who tumbled out last. The boy running a hand through his already messy hair, looking uncertain, and so, so beautiful.  
  
Jack Wright.  
  
Sammy gulped, turning towards the door, and ignoring the strange way his toes had started to curl. There was no time for this.  
  
Before he could knock again though, he was unceremoniously pushed out of the way, as Frickard and his friends pushed past them laughing and flinging open the door.

Ben, was clearly ready to lose it, and Sammy would have been all too eager to help him if Jack hadn’t dropped a quiet ‘sorry’ – the first word he had ever spoken to Sammy - and he followed his friends.  
He placed a hand on his own friend’s shoulder, and Ben instantly relaxed.  
“C’mon, let’s go get you a girlfriend.” 

* * *

The rest of the party was a blur. Ben had disappeared – somewhere – some time ago, and Sammy had been left chatting to some people he vaguely knew, but didn’t really care about. There was alcohol, but Sammy wasn’t drinking. He had enough problems in his life without adding underage alcohol addiction to the list.

  
The house was crowded, and his head was pounding and he wanted to be in the quiet of his bedroom, watching TV alone with Ben. Ben clearly wanted to be here though, so Sammy, ever the dutiful friend, stayed.  
  
In hindsight, maybe Sammy would’ve paid more attention to how the rest of the night would play out if he knew how deeply it would impact everything that was to come after.  
Maybe if he had known that, he would’ve put his world on a metaphorical pause and savoured every moment of normalcy whilst he still could.  
Or, maybe he would’ve even run away, not even bothering let Ben know he was leaving, or to shut the door behind him.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, if you had told Sammy Stevens that in a few short hours, he would be in Emily Potter’s bedroom, pressed up against an overflowing bookshelf and kissing Jack f _ucking_ Wright and subsequently destroying the tiny semblance of sanity that he had left, he would’ve laughed in your face.  
  
However, that’s now how this story goes.  
  
But more about that, later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Veering off wildly, but things will hopefully catch up to the actual events of the story in the next chapter ! Thanks for reading, love <3


	3. quiet encounters of destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a party continues, an interaction is observed, and a question is asked.

The girl hanging off his arm was starting to irritate him. 

He thought her name was Mandy, and that there probably was something worth knowing behind her eager smile, and sickly sweet voice, but the way she looked up at Sammy from beneath her lashes, and hung onto every single-worded response he made as though it were the most thrilling addition to her babbling was making his stomach turn. 

He took another sip of his rapidly flattening soda - more to confirm it was indeed only a soda than any actual desire to consume-- and ‘mmhm’d’ at her again. 

He was tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well. Which was also irritating, because he would’ve assumed that a life of tossing and turning and nightmares would have made him able to survive on barely an hours sleep most days. Apparently not. 

His eyes, glassy from boredom and the haze of smoke that filled the air and made the room somehow even more stifling, scanned the scene. The main source of smoke was coming from a circle of teens Sammy vaguely recognised. Doyle had been a tormentor of Ben from an early age, not to be cruel, but because Ben’s reactions seemed to feed an insatiable hunger, the likes of which could only be satiated by copious amounts of weed and Medium Rage. Him and his friends were passing around a joint, looking so completely care-free that Sammy almost considered going over and joining them.  
Some other teens were chain-smoking next to the door, and why they couldn’t just take a few further steps and smoke outside the door was something Sammy wanted to dwell on, but knew would only make him needlessly frustrated.

There were plenty of people Sammy didn’t recognise at all, making out against every free surface, laughing at each other’s probably un-funny jokes. Inebriated, but happy. 

The room was so crowded. For such a large, open room, it was impressive.  
Sammy vaguely realised his neck was feeling tense and sweaty, and the girl laughing in his ear wasn’t helping. Sammy was ready to make his excuses and leave when his eyes passed over a dark corner of the room. It took a few moments for his visionto focus, the smoke decidedly not helping, but he eventually could make out the shape of two figures, huddled together.

A girl, petite and blonde, was seemingly relishing every word of a tall, dark boy standing over her. They were leaning into each other, his arm resting casually on the wall beside her, boxing them into their private corner, appearing to Sammy as though the last thing they wanted to do was to be disturbed, or even observed. 

His face heated up, as the boy leaned down to whisper into the girls ear, and she raised her hand up to her mouth in an obvious attempt to stifle a giggle, and Sammy realised who the pair were. 

Jack Wright, and Maggie Masterson. 

He attributed the sudden increase of his heartbeat to the fact that he was praying on a decidedly intimate moment, and focused on the fact that Ben would likely be interested in this development. 

He hadn’t seen the two interact, ever, but supposed it made sense. 

Both were beautiful, popular, intelligent. Maggie was a triple threat, and had been the star of every production she’d tried out for since middle school. Of course Jack, handsome, athletic, charismatic Jack would be interested in somebody like her. 

Not somebody like Sammy. 

Like - Sammy? 

Where had that come from? 

Sammy quickly shut down any further train of thought by focusing on Ben.  
Ben who he loved. Ben who was his best friend. Ben who was all he needed in this life, in any life.

Not people like Jack Wright, who were friends with people like Greg Frickard, but were still too perfect for their own damn good. 

People like Jack Wright who got into fights with his own sister in school, but bounced back as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

People like Jack Wright who probably weren’t as brilliant and wonderful as his perfect smile, his lovely brown eyes, his sharp wit, seemed to suggest. 

His hair probably wasn’t even that soft. 

His lips wouldn’t be anywhere near as fun to - 

Sammy was starting to panic. 

Probably would have thrown up if he hadn’t been interrupted by a tugging on his arm. 

He was thrust back into the room, and turned, expecting to see a simpering Mandy, but instead found himself suddenly face - to - face with Troy. 

The gangly youth looked nervous, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be talking to Sammy, but Sammy gave him a reluctant smile, which Troy returned full-force. 

“You seen Ben, Sammy?” he ran his hands through his hair as he asked, looking uncertain, “or Emily? I’ve been lookin’ for ‘em for damn near an hour, and I thought ‘Oh, Sammy’ll know for sure.” 

Sammy looked apologetically at Troy, but before he had a chance to reply, there was a crash from outside, and somebody screamed. 

The room turned in unison, and people were suddenly throwing themselves out the door in their haste to see what was happening out there. 

"Oh golly Sammy,” worry flashed across Troy’s boyish face, and Sammy felt sorry for him. “I gotta go, but let Benny know I was looking for him, would ya?” 

“It’s Ben” Sammy replied instinctively under his breath, but Troy had already disappeared into the crowd. 

Sammy sighed, and slumped against the counter. 

Surely nothing good ever happened at these kinds of events. What had Ben been thinking. 

The room was empty now. There was a chorus out shouts and laughing and various other noises he didn’t care to place coming from outside, and Sammy checked his watch. 

9:30. 

They likely still had _hours_ left of this shit. 

He wondered idly about whether, if he could locate him, Ben would be interested in retreating and going home to watch a bad netflix movie and devour a garlic cheese pizza.  
His gaze once again slid over to the corner where Jack and Maggie had stood only moments ago. It was now just an empty corner. He sighed loudly, and took another sip of his now-warm soda. 

“You okay?” 

He inhaled sharply, and proceeded to choke with gusto. It took him about a minute to regain his composure, and look up into the concerned face of one Jack Wright. 

“I-I. Yeah. Thanks.” Sammy looked around nervously. “Thought I was alone, is all.” 

Jack smiled, apologetically. 

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, just thought you might need some company.” 

Sammy looked quizzically at Jack, before remembering that he didn’t talk to Jack. Like, ever.  
Why was Jack talking to him? 

Instead of replying, Sammy took another sip of his drink, before offering the cup to Jack. 

“Oh, uh. I don’t drink.” 

“Neither. It’s soda.” 

“Oh.” 

Jack awkwardly took the cup, raised it to his mouth and took a long sip before pulling a face. 

“Diet soda? Just how long have you been standing here with this, it’s stale as hell.” 

Sammy shrugged, and reached out to retrieve the cup, but Jack seemed to flinch his hand away. “Erm.”  
He pretended not to notice how awkward the entire interaction was, and jerkily swept a long stray lock of hair out of his face. His fingers settled on the charm around his neck, as it so often did when he found himself overcome with nerves. His tongue swiped across his dry lips, and Jack’s face seemed to light up. 

“Your necklace?” 

“Uh. Yeah?” 

“It’s a paopu.” 

Sammy glanced down at it, unsure. 

“I know.” 

“From your girlfriend?” 

Sammy was startled at the question. It fell so easily from Jack’s mouth, as though rehearsed. 

“From Ben.” 

“Ben’s your girlfriend?” Jack had cocked his eyebrow, and Sammy resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead presenting Jack with a weak smile, trying to pretend his face wasn’t heating up from looking so long as the other boy’s face. 

“He wishes.” 

* * *

The thing about Ben was that he never did anything half-heartedly. Once he had decided on doing something, big or small, that was it. This meant that he was a brilliant friend, reliable and loyal and willing to do anything he could to make your life better. It meant that he always held himself to his word. He was fiercely passionate about everything, no matter the consequences of that. 

He would throw himself into everything he tried without any hesitation – be it sports, art, girls, tv shows. He’d had coming-on 600 different obsessions in the relatively short span of time Sammy had known him, and although he wasn’t exactly a _genius_ of any field, he took them all very seriously.

It also made him somewhat difficult to be around if you were a person he had chosen to dislike.

These people didn’t come around often, luckily.

Ben had kept a meticulous record of every one of these obsessions in a notebook he liked to pull out at parties (much to the dismay of almost everybody) and vowed that his 600th obsession would be the most important one of all.

He liked to mark milestones and anniversaries – he was very particular about acknowledging failures, but also “highlighting the good shit” (his words) that came from them. This seemed, to Sammy, to increase when the people around his were having a particularly hard time of things.

The first of these celebrations had been somewhere around Ben’s 10th birthday. His mother had saved for most of the year and surprised Ben with a Playstation. Sammy could practically hear the shriek of excitement across town, and was hardly surprised when Ben had phoned him up and practically begged him to come over – not that Sammy needed any convincing.

Betty had commented dryly (failing to hide a grin as she did so) that she’d never seen Ben do his chores so fast, and within the hour the two boys had managed to set up the console and were bouncing on the couch as it whirred through the load-up screen.

The minutes stretched into eternity and the boys rifled through the small pile of (mostly secondhand) games that Betty had acquired, stuffing their faces with crisps and sausage rolls as they did so.

Ben had, after some consideration, shyly suggested that Sammy choose their first game, and Sammy had weighed up the various pros and cons of each, obviously taking the task very seriously indeed.

Finally, he picked up a shiny, brand new copy of _Kingdom Hearts_. Mickey Mouse was on the cover, and it made him feel small and nostalgic – in the best kind of way. His mother had been a particularly big fan of Disney, and not even her leaving could destroy Sammy’s similar feelings towards the company.

The two spent many weeks traversing the story, celebrating each victory, dreaming of other worlds, and wishing they could fly in a _gummi ship_ through space. Ben had sobbed through the ending, as he so often did, and Sammy had spent a few too many times replaying the scene in his head.

_I’ll come back for you, I promise!_

_I know you will._

Sammy’s birthdays were usually much quieter affairs. The acknowledgement of them rarely lasted an hour, his grandma presenting him a small (usually homemade) gift, his favourite meal (roasted beef with crispy potatoes), and a smile that he knew meant ‘it’s not much, sorry.’  
He loved each one, regardless.

That still occurred that particular year, but upon visiting The Arnold’s, Sammy had received a different gift from Betty and her son.

“A trip to the beach?! _Destiny Island_ s?!” Sammy could practically hear the exclamation marks in Ben’s excited squawk as she let the two boys know of the outing she had planned the following weekend. He was too dazed and overwhelmed to come up with an adequate response himself. 

They weren’t going to the _actua_ l Destiny Islands, of course, but Betty had obviously taken much more note of the boy’s obsession with the game then either of them had realised.

“We love you so much, Sammy. It’s not much, but I-” she began, but Sammy had thrown himself at her, refusing to let go, and she suddenly grew so choked up herself that she’d lost her train of thought.

They’d piled into The Arnold’s small car the morning of the beach trip, and the three hour drive flew by, and consisted of what was possibly the most fun Sammy had ever had. He very rarely was in any car – his grandmother didn’t drive – and so that in itself was a treat. But the air inside the car that day was thick with excitement. 

They enthusiastically sang along to bad pop-songs, (Ben attempting to dance within the constraints of his seatbelt), waved to each car that passed them on the freeway, talked seriously about the particulars of the sandcastle they had spent all week desgining and relaxed into the safety of each other’s love.

The day turned out to be even more perfect than Sammy could have imagined. Which, if he was perfectly honest, was quite a feat.

Betty had packed a picnic of Ben and Sammy’s favourite foods, carefully labelled and packed with and obvious abundance of love.

She’d even bought crunchy peanut butter for Sammy, because despite Ben’s pure hatred for the stuff, Sammy could eat a whole jar without pausing for breath. 

The basket was also overflowing icy (diet) lemonade, slices of bright, juicy watermelon, a small home made chocolate birthday cake (which Ben inhaled in an instant) and various crisps and lollies in all of Sammy’s favourite flavours. 

They spent much of the morning constructing their palace, making themselves hot and sandy sprinting up and down to collect water to fill the crocodile infested moat. They collected rocks and shells to highlight their castles majesty, and constructed swords from sticks and driftwood, to protect it from the threat of dragons and heartless.  
Ben had concocted a detailed story about a princess who needed saving, but Sammy had tackled him in exasperation, and they had instead wrestled on the sand. Ben ended up knocking over a turrent, and had succumbed to being dunked under the waves by Sammy as punishment. 

They wrote their names in the sand, searched without luck for hermit crabs, splashed in the ocean, and despite copious amounts of dutifully applied sunscreen turned various shades of crispy red.

The sky burned a brilliant crimson as they finally collapsed panting into the sand. Betty had promised them gelato after she’d tidied up their belongings, but Sammy and Ben had a few more moments to enjoy the beach before they returned to the mundanity of their dragon-free life. 

“Is this real?” Sammy mused under his breath, and sighed deep, and content. 

He hissed as Ben poked the raw, burnt flesh of his arm, rolling his eyes at the ‘definitely not a dream’ from his friend. 

He moved to retreat, but Ben grabbed his arm and tugged him close, staring pointedly into his best friend’s eyes.  
“I have something for you.” He said with every inch of sincerity he could muster.  
“Huh?” Sammy replied, slightly confused. His friend’s face flushed somehow redder under his burn, before he continued.  
  
“A present,” Ben explained, shly reaching into the pocket of his oversized purple boardshorts with his free hand, and pulling something out. He offered it to Sammy, who peered curiously at it. 

In Ben’s tiny palm, was a small star-shaped charm.  
Sammy gasped, and reached out to take it, inspecting every inch of the small gift.  
Ben peered up at him, nervously scratching his head. “It’s a paopu.” 

“ _Ben.”_

It had been Ben’s idea, but Betty had helped make it happen. The charms had been made out of clay, delicately crafted, painted and varnished over the course of a week. They’d been hidden at the back of Ben’s closet for the past month and Ben had been practically bursting from keeping the secret. 

The matching pair had tiny holes, perfect for threading through a chain and keeping safe around their neck.  
  
Sammy knew the significance of the gift. Knew what Ben was trying to say. 

If two people were to share a paopu fruit - or, in this case, share paopu charms - the two people’s destinies would become intrinsically intertwined, and they would forever be a part of each other’s lives. No matter what. The grandest sign of unconditional love in their favourite in-game universe.

“I don’t want to lose you, ever.” Ben had muttered, eyes fixed on the sand, and Sammy could only hug him tight. His aching skin stung at the contact, but he had never felt more sure of where he needed to be.

“I do not deserve you, Ben Arnold.” 

Ben would try to play it cool later on, protesting that the only reason he’d made the charms at all had been marking his 100th obsession. Kingdom Hearts. Since Sammy had been in on it, it only seemed fair to him that he got to share in celebrating as well. 

Sammy would have believed him, but he also knew that Ben’s actual 100th obsession had been snail collecting, but he wasn’t about to turn to the page in Ben’s notebook and point that out.  
Not then, anyway.  
Years later, he would bring it up frequently, tenderly. He wasn’t going to attribute Ben sticking around to a charm, he knew it to be much more than that. Not destiny, but a choice. But he wasn’t going to not wear the necklace either, just in case. 

* * *

Sammy had explained a much more abridged version of this story to Jack, who solemnly drank in the tale without a word. 

“You’re lucky,” was all he said when Sammy had finished. He had joined him in leaning against the counter by this point, and glanced over from the corner of his eyes. His strong arms were crossed tight across his chest, a slight frown maring his otherwise perfect features. 

“Uhh. How so?” 

“You have Ben,” Jack murmured, cocking his head at Sammy, “that’s lucky.”  
Sammy smiled, softly. “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

There was a comfortable silence, in which Sammy racked his brain for a further topic of conversation. He felt like he knew everything about Jack from observation alone, but it all felt so. Trivial? 

“My favourite’s Donald” Jack was saying, and it took a moment for Sammy to register that he was still talking about Kingdom Hearts. 

“I’m much more partial to Goofy,” he managed to reply. 

“Oh!” shouted Jack, suddenly alight. “The part where he- “ 

“Gets hit by the rock?” 

“In the second game, yeah! A tragedy.” 

“Ben almost cried!” 

“Lily _did_.” 

“And then the fight after, oh man.” 

“Dance water, dance!” Jack did a little jig, and hummed some battle music, whilst Sammy laughed appreciatively, not quite brave enough to join in. 

“You don’t talk much,” said Jack after a moment of this, returning to his position on the bench, “I think it’s - “ 

“Weird?” 

“No.” Jack smiled at him, genuinely. Blindingly so. He leaned close to Sammy, and whispered in his ear, “mysterious.” 

Sammy could do little more than laugh nervously and back away a little. If Jack noticed, or thought it strange, he made no indication.  
  
He tilted his head, and gazed directly into Sammy’s eyes. “I often find myself wondering,” his smile soft, genuine, “who is Sammy Stevens?” 

Sammy could feel the blush painting his usually pale features deepen, and ducked his head in embarrassment. 

“Nobody,” was all he could manage to choke out. “He’s nobody.” 

Jack made a strangled sound, but didn’t push any further.  
  
There was more silence. More than Sammy could bear right then.

He was usually okay with it, really. Silence. Especially Jack’s silence in regards to Sammy. 

He just. He wanted Jack to talk to him. Wanted to make him laugh, and to study his face - all angles and smooth skin and symmetrical beauty- , and to ask him everything and anything. 

Instead, he checked his watch again, and sighed. “10:30.” 

“Past my bedtime,” Jack quipped, and Sammy’s heart did a triple backflip and refused to let his mouth reply. 

The sounds from outside had been growing gradually less and less jarring as the conversation wore on, and Sammy was surprised to realise that the room was still quiet. He had somewhat forgotten that they were in a public place, and that other people could walk in and interrupt them at any time. The only people who seemed to exist to him at that point were himself and Jack (and Ben, somewhere off to the left of his mind where he always sat.) 

Instead of replying how he would’ve liked to, he licked his lips nervously, and said “I should probably find Ben.” He hated the words as he said them, wishing instead he could stay in the quiet with Jack forever.  
  
(When had he ever not wanted to be with Ben? Huh.) 

“Oh,” Jack whispered, looking utterly crestfallen. “Lily’s supposed to pick me up soon, I guess I should go too.” 

Sammy bit his lip. Thought about the crowd that was likely outside. The drugs and music and alcohol and hordes of people and made a decision. 

“I think,” he said slowly, each word carefully measured, “that Ben might be upstairs.” He paused, forced himself to look Jack in the eye, and said “I think you should help me find him. While - While you wait for Lily.” 

The smile that lit up Jack’s face was exhilarating, a gift that helped Sammy decide he’d made the right choice after all. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t talk to me about the fact I spent 5 hours writing a better version of this chapter (and part of the next) for which my laptop decided deletion without the ability to recover was an a+ idea. I’m currently reevaluating my life choices, but hopefully this still sits alright :) Thanks, as always, for reading!  
> (am also aware kh2 is not technically the second kh game. not sure anybody cares, but i do. cool. cool)


	4. a momentary lapse of judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mistakes are made, punches are thrown, and sammy (sortof) makes a promise.

The rooms upstairs were mostly locked up tight.

Sammy and Jack tried opening each, to no avail. The sounds of somebody being sick drifted through the door of the bathroom, putting them off checking that particular room, but Sammy was sure it wasn’t Ben.

He wasn’t sure however, that it mattered.    
He had decided there was somebody else he’d rather be with at that moment, and he was going to pull through, regardless. Besides, Ben would be fine - probably flirting with Emily somewhere. Wouldn’t even notice that Sammy had left the kitchen, if he’d even known he was in there to begin with. 

The final door on the left seemed to be open. Jack twisted the knob, and was surprised when it turned. He made a small pleased sound, and pushed it open, disappearing into the darkness. 

Sammy paused, wondering if he was supposed to follow, until Jack poked his head back around the door.    
“Empty,” he said, holding the door open for Sammy to step inside. 

“No Ben,” Sammy confirmed, looking around curiously. The room seemed to be Emily’s, unless somebody else in her family had an addiction to young adult novels, vintage sweaters and stuffed animals. He didn’t think she had a sister. 

The room was decidedly less girly than Sammy had envisioned, although he supposed he’d never really been in a girl’s room before. Not that Emily was particularly girly herself. He’d just expected a lot more pink, or lace or something. The room wasn’t dissimilar to Ben’s, although the comforter looked a lot cleaner. 

Sammy moved to leave, but Jack reached out to stop him, his teeth shining in the half-light. “Bet we can find some dirt on Emily, hm? A girl like that is too perfect.” 

Sammy tried not to flinch at the contact, all too aware of how sweaty his palms were, and how weird Jack would think he was if he were to notice. Just because Jack had suggested he thought Sammy  _ mysterious, _ didn’t mean he would be okay with the foreign thoughts dragging themselves to the forefront of Sammy’s mind right then.

Jack started to examine a stack of books on her desk, talking excitedly about first editions or vampires or something, and Sammy found himself consumed by his own thoughts once again.

When had this started? It had been less than three hours since Jack Wright had spoken his first word to him, one since Sammy had realised he might’ve been on Jack’s radar as much as Jack was constantly on his and Ben’s, and about ten minutes since Jack had pulled him by the hand, and dragged him laughing up the stairs. 

He’d had no time to develop any clarity regarding his thoughts about Jack at all. Definitely not thoughts that felt so strange, and personal. Yet, here he was, in an enclosed space, alone with him. The intensity of the confusion was overwhelming him, and he decided he needed to sit down. Emily’s bed was closest, and he sunk into it with a nearly inaudible groan. 

Jack seemed to not even notice, his back was to Sammy, and he seemed to be murmuring to himself. Sammy tried desperately not to stare, and decided his feet were the much more interesting option. His feet were safe. His feet made sense. His feet weren’t making him feel desperate, and giddy and uncertain. 

  
He’d known Jack Wright for months. How had it taken so small of an interaction to trigger this kind of giddy reaction in him? 

He thought about all the things he knew about Jack from observing him over that time, tried to organise them coherently in his mind.

They ranged from the shape of his neck as he bent over an assignment, to the way his lip curled when he was particularly focused on his work. He knew the way that Jack’s eyebrows arched when he was teasing somebody, and the exact way his voice reverberated around the room whenever he decided something was worthy of his laughter. He thought about how Jack always raised his hand to ask a question, even when teachers would always remind him he could just call out like everybody else. He could recall the exact look of pride on Jack’s face as he recited the alphabet backwards, without skipping a beat, as part of a presentation in their drama class. He knew that Jack cared for his sister more than anything in the world, and he was certain of this because of the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he looked at her. That he always ordered two orange juices at lunch, just in case they ran out before one of his friends could get into line. The way he was kind to everybody, even when they were surely just a bother. He could remember all the times somebody in their class had made a comment, and he had turned unthinkingly to gauge Jack’s reaction before even considering his own. He knew that when Jack’s hair was particularly untidy, he was less likely to perform his best on the field, and would always drink twice as much water as if staying hydrated would solve all his problems.

Which was when Sammy realised that maybe he had more to worry about than he had initially envisioned. 

Which was just about the moment he realised Jack was staring at him, a strange expression on his angular face. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jack teased, lightly. Sammy knew he was teasing because of the way he arched his eyebrow. He had literally just been thinking about that. He shouldn’t be thinking of that. Of Jack. Not like that. He should be thinking of a way to leave this room, to find Ben and to not be thinking of Jack. Because Jack..

The words left his mouth before he had even processed them in his mind. 

  
“Youlikemaggie” he said, receiving a confused look as a response. Sammy took a breath, and tried again. 

“Are you. Y’know. Dating Maggie Masterson.” 

Jack’s face fell slightly, but in an instant he was suddenly defiant. “Why, you interested in her, Stevens?” 

“No.” Sammy whispered, and bit his lip. He didn’t know how he had ended up in this room, having this conversation, but he was suddenly wishing for about the sixth time that night that he were at home with Ben in his pjs eating pizza. 

Jack’s expression softened somewhat, as he studied Sammy carefully. “We’re friends.” he said slowly, trying to gauge Sammy’s reaction, but when there wasn’t one, he continued. “We both need each other to - it just works. Being friends.” 

“Oh.” 

“She’s. She’s nice. If people think we’re dating well.” He bit his lip, subconsciously mirroring Sammy’s own expression, “that works for both of us. I guess.” 

Sammy was unsure if he understood, or what the proper response was. His brain had gone fuzzy at that information. Hearing the word  _ friend.  _

He had a friend too. Ben. Ben who he wanted so desperately to be with. So where did that leave Jack and Maggie? Friends? Why did it matter. Why did any of it matter. 

Sammy realised he hadn’t responded, but was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to leave. To leave and to never think about Jack Wright ever again. 

So that’s what he did. 

Or, what he tried to do.    
  
He’d made it about three steps off the bed, before Jack had grabbed his hand.    
  
“Wait.” 

He sounded like he was pleading with Sammy, like he was scared. Which was not an emotion Sammy had ever attributed to Jack before. Probably thought he’d be incapable of emotions like that.

He let Jack spin him around, and looked curiously into Jack’s face, which housed a thousand different emotions at once, all of them increasingly unfamiliar.

“Don’t go.” 

“I just - “ 

“Sammy. Please.” His eyes were closed, his expression almost unreadable, but his  _ voice.  _ “I’ve been trying so hard. For so long to talk to you. You can’t just.” 

He breathed. Long and hard, opening his eyes and locking them on Sammy’s. “I just. I need to know.” 

Before Sammy could convince himself he wasn’t dreaming, before he could convince himself this was absolutely real and happening and with Jack Wright, it did. 

Jack tugged Sammy ever so slightly closer, smiled somewhat shyly at him, and leaned down to press their lips together.

* * *

Ben was having a decidedly worse night than his friend. Which was unusual, partially because Sammy’s nights were usually pretty awful, partially because Ben brushed most things off without a second thought.

Cynthia Smyth was possibly the most grating girl Ben had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t seem to be able to register that Ben utterly despised her, and spent every moment she could attempting to impress him. 

Ben’s plan for the night obviously hadn’t involved Cynthia cooing over how gorgeous she thought he was, and tugging at his curls, simpering about how she wasn’t like the _ other _ trashy girls in town, and by the time he’d managed to slip away from her, and head outside, he couldn’t see Emily anywhere. 

  
The garden was huge, and crowded. Not that any part of Emily’s house wasn’t crowded right then. King Falls was by no means a giant town, but there were teenagers everywhere, many of whom Ben had never seen before, most of whom were completely wasted.    
  
Ben didn’t mind people who drank, but personally abstained. He had spent too many nights laying in bed, listening to his mother cry in the next room on the phone to her sister. A lot of the time, it was about how she worried she wasn’t anywhere near good enough for Ben. Sometimes it was about Sammy, and how she was afraid for him, too. 

Sometimes it involved stories he’d tried to piece together over the years. The parts he’d figured out involved alcohol, he was sure of that much. He never wanted to be the reason his mother cried, and if not being intoxicated helped that, well. It was an easy choice, really. 

He was almost ready to give up. Find Sammy, drag him home, and declare the night an utter failure. 

Until he let himself focus on a crowd forming off to the side.    
A crowd with Greg Frickard in the centre.    
He seemed to be standing over a much smaller boy - typical - goading him with his friends, and laughing in a way that could only be described as being cruel. Empty. Greg was the kind of person who took from others, to make himself feel good. It wasn’t an unusual circumstance, but not one Ben could ever feel comfortable with.

Ben didn’t recognise the boy, but that didn’t matter. He pushed through to intervene, before Greg could throw the first, cowardly punch. 

Then somebody did. 

Somebody else.   
  
Emily. 

And Ben knew there was no going back. He was completely, utterly, in love.

* * *

What had begun as something timid, chaste, gentle, had quickly developed into something, well. Something a little desperate. 

Jack’s lips on Sammy’s had caused the smaller boy to involuntarily gasp. The small parting of Sammy’s lips, and the sound escaping it, seemed to fuel Jack, because he deepened the kiss, grabbing fistfuls of Sammy’s shirt, yanking him closer. Their mouths meshed together somewhat sloppily, without even a hint of restraint. Sammy had never kissed any body before, but Jack seemed so sure of himself. So certain. There was nothing innocent about the way his lips were moving, or the small noises of pleasure he was making at every reaction of Sammy’s.

Sammy himself felt dizzy, sick, intoxicated, but he clung to Jack in a strange mixture of want and need for security, as though if he didn’t he might wake up and find out he’d been dreamin all along. Jack’s hands moved with purpose, as though he were trying to memorise Sammy, as though convinced he would never have another chance. Sammy could practically feel the grin colouring Jack’s face, as he arched into each and every touch, giving him the confidence to touch Jack in retaliation. His hands found their way to his shoulders, and he considered leaving them slung around his neck, but the desire to touch Jack’s strong, muscular arms was all too powerful, and he rested them there instead. Jack seemed to find absolute pleasure in swiping his tongue along Sammy’s lips,tugging them gently with his teeth and practically  _ giggling  _ under his breath. He had run one of his hands through Sammy’s hair, tugging out his elastic as he did so. This usually would’ve made Sammy feel somewhat self conscious, but the thought didn’t even begin to cross his mind, because what did that matter right then? Jack’s fingers in his hair, and Jack’s saliva in his mouth (like cherries, he tasted like cherries) and his other arm around his waist, constantly pulling him closer, what did it matter? 

Jack attempted to maneuver Sammy onto the bed, but in his haste pushed his shoulder into a bookshelf instead. Several books tumbled onto the floor, and the two broke apart momentarily, breathless and a little afraid. 

  
“Is, is this okay?” Jack’s words were a lot less certain than his movements, and Sammy had no words to reassure him. Instead, he reached up to resume the contact of their lips. There was time for conversation later, for now, this was the only thing that mattered.

Jack managed to reach the bed, pulling Sammy onto his lap as he did so. He was whispering incoherently into Sammy’s ear, placing kissing along his neck and shoulders, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, and giving off the impression that he was completely desperate for more.

Sammy vaguely registered that Jack was hard, and that there was probably something he could do about that, that Jack was probably expecting him to do about it, but before it materialized fully in his brain, the door to the room was flung open with a bang and Sammy found himself being pushed off of Jack to the other side of the room. He stumbled to regain his balance, before looking somewhat terrifiedly at the doorway.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” 

It was Lily. Obviously come to retrieve Jack from the party and looking entirely unsurprised to find him in a room alone with a boy, both looking completely disheveled and breathless. Clothed in pink pj pants and a black shirt proclaming 'sorry: about your face' she barely gave Sammy a second glance, before staring pointedly at her twin brother, who seemed to be struggling with something Sammy couldn't place.

“Well?” 

“In a sec, Lil.” 

She rolled her eyes and turned to leave without another word. Jack stood up and brushed himself off in an attempt to regain composure, before looking at Sammy. 

“This didn’t happen.” He said simply. “You tell nobody. I-I’ll talk to you later, alright?” 

Sammy in his confusion, just nodded and watched hopelessly as Jack left the room without another word, looking only slightly apologetically at the boy he had only moments earlier been all over. 

Sammy raised his hand to his lips, which were tingly, swollen, and somehow covered in blood. He swore quietly, before sighing deeply and moving to tie his hair back and attempting to stop his heart from racing. 

Thankfully, Ben was all too keen to leave once Sammy rejoined the party, and if he noticed anything off about his friend he didn’t mention it. The rest of the night was spent picking at that pizza, and nodding absently as Ben ranted about what an ass Frickard was, agreeing wholeheartedly whenever Ben seemed to need some indication that he wasn’t talking to a wall. From what Sammy could gather, Greg had been attempting to profess him love to Emily via..bullying? Surely not. Either way, Emily had shown him just how interested in him she was, somehow endearing her even more to Ben.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Sammy’s mind was a million miles way in a room with his hands all over Jack Wright. 

He would wake up from a dream that night, the ghost of Jack’s lips on his, sweaty and shaking and wanting. He would splash water on his face, look in the mirror, notice a tiny, almost inconceivable mark on his shoulder and groan.    
He would see Jack once. Twice. Eight times. He would nervously smile, move to wave, his heart would speed up, his palms become sweaty, but Jack would barely acknowledge him more than a moment of lingering eye contact. His heart would break. 

Sammy kept quiet. Didn’t mention the night to Ben at all. He would casually try to bring up Jack whenever he could, try to get Ben to talk about the boy, but really. What could be said that hadn’t been a thousand times before? Not without arousing his friend’s suspicion. Not without letting Ben in on the fact that he had spent almost every moment since that night with Jack plaguing his mind. 

So Sammy did what he did best. Kept his head down, his feelings buried, his thoughts silent. What else was there to do? Part of him would always be stuck on that night with Jack Wright, but he had to do whatever it took to pretend that wasn’t the case. For his sanity. It was just a stupid, momentary crush. Probably just hormones. It meant nothing.   
  
And if he felt dizzy seeing Jack and Maggie holding hands in the corridors at school, or dancing goofily in the yard at lunch, or kissing in the stairwell after class. Well. What did that matter, really? 

It was easy to pretend that it  _ had  _ been a dream. Because why, for even a second, would Jack Wright care enough about Sammy to. To. 

Yeah. 

Until the notes started, anyway. 

Then Sammy knew his problems were only just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Huh. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all are wonderful. <3


	5. between friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a proposition. a memorised number. and several important conversations.

“So. Sammy Stevens, huh?”

It was the evening after Troy’s birthday, and Jack had been avoiding his sister all day. Her smug silence on the drive home had been more than a little awkward, but he’d been too tired and preoccupied to care.

Lily was well aware of the fact that he was queer – it was impossible for her to not know – but he knew what her reaction would be to interrupting that particular _interaction._ Especially after the mess he has made at their last school. She wasn’t bothered by it, far from, but. They were supposed to be blending in, laying low. Finishing their schooling and moving on in life. They weren’t supposed to be… Well. He wasn’t supposed to be mildly obsessed with boys like Sammy Stevens. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Timid smile on soft lips, softer than he had dared to let himself imagine. He’d spent every moment since he’d first sighted Sammy avoiding him at all costs. Because he knew this would happen. He knew.

How had he let this happen?

He’d spent the entire following day hiding in his bedroom, letting the previous nights events play over and over in his head. It was such a stupid thing for him to have done. If Sammy breathed a word of it to anybody, he was done. His life would be over once again, and he wasn’t likely to get a third chance. It wasn’t fair. To him. To his parents. To Lily.

As the sun began to set, he realised he couldn’t put off his homework any longer.  
Cursing the fact that he hadn’t bothered with the purchase of a light that actually worked for his bedroom, he stealthily made his way to the kitchen to attempt his Thomas Hardy essay.

He’d almost managed to finish it without incident, but Lily had clearly been waiting for the right moment to make her entrance. The look in her eyes coupled with the sly grin on her face made her intentions clear before she even opened her mouth.  
  
Jack sighed his reply “Drop it Lils.” He added a “please” as an afterthought, hoping she would take pity on him.

Lily clearly had other plans. “I don’t blame you,” she mused, “bit of a weird kid, but he’s pretty cute. I can think of at least six girls – Mandy Mitner mostly - who would be uncontrollably jealous if –“

“Stop.”

“Hit a nerve, JackJack?”

“Not my name.”

“Bet if Stevens called you –“

“I said drop it.” His head was pounding, but clearly Lily had no intention of leaving or changing the subject.

He did manage to scribble a few lines before she spoke again. “What’s Steven going to say?”

“If you think I give a shit what that asshole Grisham and his mindless pack of idiots think –“

“I don’t think it matters what you think.” She said simply, her voice becoming softer. Almost pitying. “You know exactly how it’s going to be. How it’s always been.”

He sighed and raised his eyes from his essay. He knew she was right, but that didn’t make it any better. “I’ve got it… I’ve got it figured out.”

“Maggie.”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand nervously through his dark hair. “We’re in the same boat, so it seems.”

Lily perked up a bit at that, and considered his words carefully. “And you and Sammy?” she said finally.  
  
“There is no me and Sammy.” His words dripped with something unfamiliar. Something mutually understood to mean _‘as much as I wish there were.’_

“Does he know that?”

Jack shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

Lily pushed back her chair and turned to leave. “I just want you to be happy Jack.” And almost as an afterthought, “he’s a nice guy, don’t hurt him too much.”

Jack couldn’t bring himself to answer.

* * *

Wednesdays were Sammy’s least favourite day of the week. Normally, he would be keen for any excuse to leave any class involving numbers but making himself scarce on the way to the school counsellors office was more trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t want any further excuse for these people to think he was weaker than they already did. Therapy was also stressful. He was never exactly pressured into speaking. Not by the counsellor anyway – her nameplate read ‘Jensen’ but her smile said ‘call me Mary’ – whom Sammy had known since pre-school and was potentially the nicest person he was likely to ever meet.  
  
It was still utterly nerve wracking. Sammy always felt like he was being examined, like he could say the wrong thing and be tossed out of school, sent away for good. He kept most of his actual feelings guarded, close to his chest. She knew about things like his parents, and lack of motivation. She encouraged him to seek social interaction, and pushed him to do his best. But really, it was just a space that had been made available to him. In case he ever got to courage to tell her what was really happening inside his head.  
He had been close to telling her too, a thousand times. One day he would open his mouth and every secret, every failure. It would all tumble out and there’d be no way to stop them.  
  
Out of everybody, Mrs. Jensen would understand. He was sure of that.  
It didn’t stop him from stressing, though. Or opening up.  
  
The spent that session – a short one this week – muttering to the floor about an assignment he was a little worried about. The furthest thing from Jack that he could think of. It had been weeks since _the incident_ and not much had changed. Jack was still pretending he didn’t exist, and Sammy was still spending all his time trying to convince himself that he wished that weren’t the case.  
  
Mrs. Jensen checked her watch and smiled kindly at Sammy. “I appreciate your continued efforts to come here, Sammy.”

He resumed looking at the floor, muttering an affirmation that he’d heard her. She seemed to hesitate, before speaking again. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’d like to talk about? We still have a few minutes if there’s something on your mind?”

“No. Um. I’m okay, I think.” He managed a smile, and she seemed to disbelieve him, but moved to finish their session up anyway.

“This is a safe space, Sammy. You can tell me anything, you know that.”  
“Uh. Yeah, thanks Mrs. Jensen.”

“Mary,” she corrected him, not unkindly, before reaching to her diary to pencil him in for the following fortnight. He’d be missing Math again. There were worse things.

He joined the crowds of students bustling through the halls, reaching into his backpack feeling slightly disorientated. He had lunch and either Drama or Literature after that, but first he needed to find Ben.  
  
He wandered to their usual area with his lunch tray, but it was completely deserted. He took a seat anyway, and pushed his food off to the side, laying his head against the wooden table with a deep sigh. Counselling, even when it involved little effort on his part, left him feeling exhausted and thoroughly overwhelmed. He was unaware that he had drifted off until he was being gently shaken awake by Ben.  
  
“Sammy,” he whispered softly, “wake up buddy.” Sammy raised his head groggily, and smiled up at his friend.  
“

Hey.”

Ben had brought along some others, and soon the area was full of chatting teenagers. Dwayne and Kirk were in an argument about the morality of Batman, which Ben joined in on with gusto, but Sammy knew he was still partially focused on his drowsy friend. He’d placed his hand casually on Sammy’s knee, and kept prompting him to eat, which almost made Sammy forget how miserable he’d been the last few weeks. He had a friend who cared, a friend who knew enough about him to know how to keep him grounded. He had Ben. He was grateful for that, at the very least.

Until Ben passed along his Math homework, eliciting a loud groan. “Sorry Sammy,” Ben said, to his credit with only a little glee. “Merv’s orders.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sammy shoved the book into his bag with a small huff, but in the process, knocked a tiny yellow post-it onto the floor. He frowned slightly, before reaching over to pick it up. The blue handwriting was unfamiliar. Definitely not his own, and so far from Ben’s that it was laughable to even consider. He thought about questioning this friend, until he read the scribbled words and he stuffed it into his bag instead, blushing deeply.  
He hoped desperately that nobody had been paying attention to him, but that seemed to be the case anyway.

Beautiful cursive that read ‘the memory of your fingertips on my skin is now a haunting sadness,’ followed by a number that could only belong to one person.

* * *

Maggie Masterson knew she was wonderful. She was constantly surrounded by other wonderful people, of course, but that didn’t faze her in the slightest. She understood her place, and was glad to have it. She didn't need to drag others down for that to be the reality of the situation.

She knew she was intelligent, and desirable, and going places. She was unwavering in her certainty about that.

She knew that people couldn’t help but watch her every move, which helped tremendously in her ability to command a stage. Her pitch was flawless, and coupled with her enunciation and ability to memorise pages of complicated monologues she impressed even the harshest of critics. Her dancing could use a little work, but hey. You can't win them all.

Sometimes she just attracted the wrong attention.

She knew it wasn’t personal. Knew it could've happened to anybody - that it did happen to anybody. To most people, really. Her popularity and willingness to please made her an easy target, that was all. She didn’t want to kick Burt Gladstone in the balls, and cause a scene and find herself expelled, so she smiled at him, and laughed at his jokes, even when he made her feel utterly worthless.

It wasn’t that she was beautiful. It wasn’t that she was smart, or tough, or witty. He cared about one thing only, and thought she would give it easily.

If only he knew.

She was far from interested in boys, had better things to worry about. They were fine to lord over, and fine to act across from. Ben Arnold was even fun to make cry. He wasn’t a bad kisser either, really, having had to perform opposite him a dozen times she knew this. Though kissing was the last thing that concerned her about anybody, let alone Ben Arnold.

“I have a proposition.” Jack Wright was interesting. She had observed him from afar, like most other people, although unlike most others, she had befriended him. Easily. They’d partnered up for a History assignment and the rest was. Well. History.

They had a silent understanding, a mutual respect. Jack appreciated that Maggie didn’t turn to mush around him, like most girls seemed to – being an athlete had definite down sides – and Maggie appreciated the fact that Jack treated her like an actual human, and not just something to win over because she happened to have a great rack. Jack had never even made a vaguely suggestive comment in her direction, which she appreciated more than she thought she would. It was an admittedly low bar, but he cleared it with leaps and bounds.

They were laying next to the fireplace at her house, Jack under a blanket, Maggie quietly sipping cocoa from her favourite mug. They’d been idly discussing a party the following evening, Maggie expressing disgust at the thought of another evening of being ogled and whistled at by their horny neanderthal classmates , when Jack had presented her with an idea.

“I could pretend to be your boyfriend.”

“Is this a romcom?” she had said, slightly put out. “Is there where you reveal you’ve been in love with me all along, because I don’t think I’m okay with that honestly.”

Jack shook his head, and looked thoughtful for a moment, before resuming his obviously pre-planned speech.  
“If Gladstone and his cronies thought we were together, maybe they’d leave you alone. Bro code and all that.”

Maggie scoffed, “because respecting me, a woman, is too hard but they’ll happily respect you because of what. Your penis?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t understand it either, but it’s not like I’m exactly egging them on.

“I guess not.” She didn't push further because. Well. Again, there was a bar. They sat in silence for a moment, before Maggie spoke. “What’s in it for you? I know you don't like those assholes, but surely you get something other than the satisfaction of being my knight in shining armour."

Jack bit his lip, obviously working something over in his head and Maggie could somewhat understand why so many other girls found him so attractive. Eventually, he seemed to make a decision. “I’m gay.” He said it simply, but Maggie knew the weight behind the admission.

“You need a cover.”

“That’s the basic shape of it.”

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

“You don’t hate me?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “The less straight dudes hitting on me, the better.”

“You’re a good friend, Maggie.”

She wondered momentarily about what that said about friend’s he’d had in the past. How a simple acceptance of who he was, no questions asked, made her ‘good.’ It was stupid, and sad.

Perhaps she wasn't the only one with a really low bar.

She sighed, before standing up. “Guess we should practice, huh?”

Jack grinned.

* * *

It took Sammy until Saturday evening to try the number.  
He was surprised it hadn’t taken him longer. 

Part of him was convinced it had to be a mistake – that the note had been for somebody else, and had accidentally ended up mixed in with his things.

Another part of him hoped desperately he was right.

He thought about approaching Jack in the hallways, and demanding he speak to him – knew he didn’t have the courage. Barely even considered it, really.

He’d wanted to show Ben a thousand times. It had been so hard for him to keep this secret, hated every second of it. Knew that Ben could sense something wrong – not that that was hard, Sammy knew he was looking more and more ill by the day – knew that he was probably worried about him. Just, didn’t know what to do about it. Ben would know how to deal with this. Ben always knew. When Sammy was consumed by panic, Ben could hold his hand and talk him through it, and everything would be okay. Surely Ben would know what to do - would understand.   
  
But Ben couldn't know. He would understand everything, but wouldn't understand this.   
  
There was no way Sammy could ever tell him.  
  
He’d spent most of the previous evenings ignoring his homework, half-heartedly doing his chores, eating the bare minimum of his grandmother’s lovingly prepared meals.  
She had to have noticed too. Or maybe she was just used to her grandson’s silences, having endured years of them by this point. Either way, he’d spent way too many hours alternating between memorising every detail of the post-it, pacing up and down his room with his phone clutched tightly in his hand, and staring at his bedroom wall, idly tracing his lips with his left hand.

He’d seen Jack at school, of course. It was hard not to, considering the amount of classes they had together. He hadn’t made any acknowledgement of Sammy, but that wasn’t particularly unusual. If Sammy had felt eyes watching him from across the classroom, well surely that was just his imagination?

He certainly hadn’t been distracted by Jack sucking on his pen for thirty minutes during a psychology lesson. That would be absolutely absurd.

He’d been observing Jack unknowingly for so long, that once he’d recognised that it was a regular part of his daily routine, he couldn’t stop. Everything about Jack was in the forefront of his mind at all times. The way he moved, the way he reacted, the way he spoke. If he got close enough, Sammy even managed to take note of the way he smelled. Like cherries, which made his stomach hurt, because he’d tasted like them too. 

He’d felt so ill from stress by the time the weekend rolled around, that he found himself cancelled plans with Ben – a thing he’d never even dreamed of before. No matter how terrible he was feeling, no matter how sick or tired or miserable, he’d make himself available. Betty and his Grandmother had had to band together several times over the years to keep the boys apart and hydrated. Ben was unusually accepting of his weak excuses about a stomach virus, promising to complete his homework on-time so they could hang out after school the following Monday, and Sammy found himself overcome with intense guilt.  
  
Ben was too good for Sammy.

He let Ben ramble on a little bit, before saying his goodbyes. He made a small mental note to be extra attentive to Ben on Monday, maybe even convince his Grandma to help him bake something for his tiny friend. Ben would probably like that.

His thoughts returned quickly to Jack and refused to budge. He’d woken up around 8am, and spent the following six hours in a post-it note slump.

Jack obviously wanted him to. To what? To call? To text? To throw himself off a cliff and disappear from the stress of it all? He didn’t understand Jack’s game.

He had a girlfriend.

He had kissed Sammy.

He had ignored Sammy for weeks, but secretly given him his number.

He had kissed Sammy.

Kissed him a lot.

He had a girlfriend.

The thoughts cycled round and round his mind, and after being coaxed into a lunch of soup and crackers, Sammy spent most of the afternoon groaning into his pillow.  
His grandmother was out visiting her friends that evening, so Sammy had the house to himself. This meant little except that his pacing now extended into places beyond the walls of his bedroom.

He didn’t need this. He didn’t need this.  
He didn’t need this, and he didn’t need Jack Wright and his stupid face and his stupid beautiful blue cursive, and his stupid beautiful brown eyes and.

He picked up his phone.

He typed in the number – he’d reread the note so many times he’d memorised it.

He put his phone down.

It was so stupid.

He managed to drag himself into the kitchen, take three bites of an overripe banana, before picking up his phone again.

This time, he opened up a new text box.

He stared at the blinking cursor. For one minute. Then two.

How had he spent so long obsessing over this, and not even come up with anything to say?

He tapped out a simple message, and put the phone down without sending it.

This is was so fucking stupid.

He picked the phone back up, hit send, and proceeded to throw the device across the room, where it hit the wall opposite with a dull _thunk._

He waited.

The phone didn’t chime.

The phone didn’t chime and this was stupid and he was stupid and Jack probably. It was probably a joke and Jack probably.

He was so stupid.

The phone chimed.

He’d never moved so fast in his life, but once the phone was in his hands, he was too frightened to read the response. His heart was racing, his vision going blurry from the strain of it all. He made himself walk to the sink, splashed some water in his face and took a deep breath.

Then he read the message.

_Are you busy right now? – J_ was all it said.

Sammy knew he would regret it but found himself replying anyway. 

_Where can I meet you?”_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently quantity over quality is a thing that I do now. Thanks for putting up with me!!


	6. mediation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> power dynamics, feelings and negotiations.

If there was one thing Emily couldn’t stand, it was feeling powerless. 

So yeah, she had punched Greg Frickard.    
  
Would probably do it again, honestly. 

Even if Frank weren’t her friend. Even if it hadn’t been her fault. Even if it hadn’t been a party at her house, with Frickard trying to get her attention in the process.   
  
Yeah. It had felt fantastic. 

She was well aware of how her actions might make Frank feel powerless in turn, but really. Six on one? He’d had no chance. Even one of the William’s boys couldn’t take on six bigger, angrier boys at once. (Not that there were any kids at their school who were bigger or angrier than a William’s boy.) 

  
Pride was a funny thing though. 

Frank was ashamed. Emily insisted she’d done it because she knew she had been safe - nobody would hit her back, she was a girl. That fact gave her a grim satisfaction. In the end, it was chalked up to the fact that Frank was her friend. 

Greg Frickard, was decidedly not. 

The black was and broken nose was a marked improvement on his slimey features. Emily evicted him from the party with a sweet “Bye Greg” and his tears only fuelled her conviction. 

She’d also had to admit that the fact that Greg had stopped stalking her during free periods and staring at her across the classroom, and making valiant declarations of love at any opportunity he could find was an added bonus. 

She really, really liked feeling powerful. 

She also really liked the power she had seemed to gain over one Ben Arnold. 

That was an interesting development. Very interesting indeed. 

* * *

Sammy did not make a habit of leaving the house after dark. Ben’s house being the exception of course, since Betty was always eager to see him and drive him home if it meant prolonging his stays. 

His grandmother still took the bus everywhere, and Sammy couldn’t afford a car on his meager part-time wages anyway. It was much safer to stay at home once the sun set. 

Vampires and werewolves were not something he believed in, but he wasn’t going to risk it either way.

So when Jack had offered to turn up at his house - well. His grandmother wouldn’t be home for hours. If Jack turned up in a car they could always go somewhere else. 

Or, well.    
  
Either way, it gave Sammy time to quickly shower, because he wasn’t exactly sure where Jack lived, but it couldn’t be less than 10 minutes away. His brain was screaming at him that it didn’t matter anyway. Why did he care if Jack thought his hair was particularly dirty? Or if his clothes weren’t perfectly ironed? Why did he care about anything that Jack thought?

Why had he agreed to Jack coming to his house? 

Probably the stupidest thing he’d done all day. 

Which. Was saying a lot. 

There was a confident knock on the door 12 minutes later, and Sammy had been mid-way through jamming a toothbrush in his mouth. He inhaled a little of the minty tooth-sloosh on panicked reflex, and glared at himself in the mirror before spitting into the sink and wiping his mouth. 

He straightened the collar of his shirt, rolled his eyes at himself, and jogged to the door. 

Jack was standing on the other side, looking thoroughly tousled and uncertain. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a checkered red button up. Sammy glanced momentarily at his arms, where the sleeves were rolled up in a way that made a rush of nerves flow suddenly through his veins. 

“H-hey.” He opened the door in a silent invitation, mentally thanking his grandmother’s obsession with keeping the house tidy. At least he hadn’t had the added stress of that.    
Jack peered around the living area nervously, and Sammy sat on his favourite green couch, gesturing for the other boy to sit wherever he liked. 

The lack of conversation was entirely unsettling, but Sammy figured there was a reason Jack was here - and he wasn’t going to be the one to drag it out of him. He considered picking up a discarded novel and reading it in a small moment of defiance, before Jack spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” and Sammy blinked at him before raising an eyebrow. 

“Okay.” 

“O-okay?” 

“I’m not sure what your definition of - “ 

“I didn’t mean for. For it to happen like this. I wanted you to notice me but I didn't mean to. Well. Y'know.” 

Sammy’s heart was aching at the notes of desperation in Jack’s voice, and he was aware that he had curled his hands into fists. “Okay. So what did you mean to happen then? If making the closeted gay kid fall madly in love with you before tossing him to the side wasn’t part of your plan, please. Enlighten me. What was.” 

Jack paused, as though that weren’t quite the reaction he had expected - maybe he was just shocked that Sammy had spoken so many words to him without stopping. Instead of responding he fixated on the one part of Sammy’s reply he probably wasn’t supposed to. 

“Madly in love with?” 

“That was clearly not the point.” Snapped Sammy, before muttering about hyperbole. “Honestly how does anybody put up with you.” 

Jack sighed. “I often wonder that myself.” There was something in his voice that softened Sammy’s resolve. Something about the way Jack’s body was hunched over, as though he’d lost all confidence, as though he were melting under Sammy’s gaze. Something about just how white his knuckles seemed to be. He seemed so. Vulnerable.

“It’s fine.” 

“Huh?” 

“You don’t have to apologise. It didn’t mean anything. I get it. I forgive you, it's fine.” If pretending he wasn’t completely torn apart about this would somehow make Jack feel better, it was worth it. Worth it all. Sammy was used to disappointment, what was one more blow. 

Jack didn’t look any better though. If Sammy hadn’t known Jack, he would’ve thought he was on the verge of tears. Surely not. He searched around for a different, easier subject, but was drawing a giant blank. 

Jack looked tired. He looked so tired, and Sammy felt so sorry for him. “Are you alright?” he asked, as though he hadn’t been the one feeling miserable all these weeks. Because it had taken Jack a whole ten minute interaction to silently convince Sammy that maybe he’d had it wrong. Maybe Jack wasn’t bad. Maybe he was just. Scared? He didn’t know if that was the right word, but maybe. Maybe. 

Instead of answering his question, Jack breathed in deeply and shook his head. Before Sammy could ask him to clarify, he spoke again. “I-I’m not alright. Part of me thinks I never have been, but I know that isn’t true. Mostly because I have been okay - was okay - in Emily’s bedroom, k-kissing you. I’ve never been more alright in my entire life and that terrifies me. It didn’t. It meant everything. Not. Not nothing.” 

Sammy’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he found himself clearing his throat several times in the silence that followed. Jack was clearly waiting for a response, but all Sammy could manage was “what about Maggie?” 

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, looking thoroughly distressed. “I wasn’t lying when I said we were friends, Sammy. Did you even listen to what I was saying that night.” 

Sammy laughed. “I listened Jack, and I believed what you were saying, that maybe you gave a shit about me too. Until I had to sit and watch the two of you together all over each other for the last month. You can’t lie to me about this, do you really think i’m that stu-"

“Listen to me Sammy!” Jack was clearly exasperated, his hands gripping his knees in an attempt to stop his trembling. “Maggie and I are friends. Friends. I’m telling you because you need to know. If people think otherwise then fine! Fine. I told you that, and i’m telling you again, and I will tell you a thousand times because I need you to understand.” His head dropped, and he was visibly shaking now. Sammy thought about standing up, moving next to him, placing his hand on his knee in a gesture of… of what? 

He hesitated a moment too long however, and Jack continued speaking, “I need you to understand because I’m terrified and you’re the only thing - the only person who feels real to me. I wake up, and I think about you. I go to school, and I wonder what it would be like to join you and your friends, and kiss your forehead, see you smile, make you laugh. I think about all the conversations we could have, and the way you would respond to every single one of my stupid jokes. I have so many stupid jokes Sammy! And nobody I want to tell them to more than you.” 

“Jack I-” 

Jack laughed, and it felt distant. Hollow. Part of him was clearly a million miles away. “No, listen to me Stevens. I walk past you at lunch and I think about how easy it would be to go over and hold you how Ben does. I think about walking you to class, and holding your hand, and kissing you behind the fucking bleachers, but I can’t do any of that. Because you’re a  _ boy _ . If you were a _girl_ I would probably still be completely intimidated by how utterly perfect you are, but because you're not it's not even worth thinking about. Because I’m a coward. Because I’m so afraid. Because I can’t be Jack Wright if I tell you how I feel, but I can’t be Jack Wright if I don’t. I couldn’t give a shit about what my teammates think of you, or of me, or any of it, or any of the other idiots in our school, in this town, but fuck.” He laughed again. Long and hard. “Fuck Sammy, I can’t stop thinking about throwing my entire life away and just being with you, and it’s so. Pointless. It’s fucking pointless, because really, I don’t even know you. And you hate me, just like everyone else who knows the truth.” 

He slumped back in his chair, and sighed in defeat. “Who is Sammy Stevens?” he muttered. “I wish I knew.” 

And Sammy had nothing to say to that. Nothing at all to make it better. To let Jack know that he understood completely. How it felt to be alone, afraid. How it felt to want to disappear, because it didn’t matter how good 90% of your life was, it was the 10% that mattered. And when you were lying to yourself? To everyone? About something like this? That 10% seeped into the 90%, until it became 20. Then 30. Then you were more fake than not, and what did it matter. You didn't exist like everybody else, you were just a echo of something that could be. Should be. It didn’t matter that they had Ben’s and Lily’s and Footballs and Scholarships. Or video games or chocolate milkshakes. It didn’t matter that music made them want to get up and dance and made them forget that for a moment nothing mattered. Because it did matter. It mattered so much. There was no way he knew how to communicate that. To let Jack know that it was okay - that he was okay - that they would be okay. 

So Sammy did one thing he could do. One thing that made sense. He walked over to Jack, and knelt beside him. He placed one hand on his knee, and leaned up and pressed his lips against Jack's forehead. 

“We can work it out.” he murmured, and Jack’s sigh of relief was everything. “We can work it out.” 

* * *

Nobody could know. 

That was the number one rule. 

Well. They supposed that Lily and Maggie knew, but that was circumstantial, and neither of them were likely to say a thing. Also anything that got relayed to the two of them would be run by Sammy first. If he had to be discrete so did Jack.

Sammy hesitated before agreeing entirely, because what about Ben? But, surely if he were to ever find out, he would understand? He was Ben. He couldn’t be mad at Sammy. Not for long. It wasn't like this would impact Ben at all, not really. Surely he would just want Sammy to be happy?   
  
He didn’t think too much about it. It was easier that way. 

They could interact at school, which would be a small difference. But nothing that would draw attention. Make anybody suspect something like that. If they smiled at each other in the hallways - great. If Sammy asked to borrow one of Jack’s pens? Fantastic. 

Jack was as sick of ignoring Sammy as Sammy was of being ignored. It felt unnatural. Wrong. 

Sammy admitted with some reluctance that he’d been hurt by Jack’s actions, but brushed Jack’s apologises off without a word. “I forgave you. I don’t want to hear it.” 

So Jack kept quiet. 

Strictly no touching of any kind was to happen in public places. Jack had a girlfriend as far as everybody was concerned and Sammy understood. To an extent. 

He did spend a longer than strictly necessary amount of time showing Jack exactly the kind of touching he was missing out on. 

Over the clothes, only. 

For now. 

Sammy felt like he was in a dream, and he wished hopelessly that he would never wake up from it. Kissing Jack was just as wonderful as he had remembered, and the sounds he was making it was just. Perfect. He tried to push back thoughts of returning to reality come Monday, but surely not again. Not this time.

Notes were an acceptable form of communication, as long as they were completely untraceable. No fancy pens, no greetings or signs off, no expensive paper. Generic, easily overlooked, that was key.

Texting was fine, as long as they used a handy app that Jack quickly installed onto Sammy’s phone that would scramble the numbers if anybody poked around. 

Sammy could get used to the things Jack whispered in his ear. He didn’t feel ugly, most of the time, but the way Jack said his name, or called him beautiful, or waxed poetic about how he made him ache, or described in detail how he felt every time Sammy opened his mouth.    
  
He could definitely get used to this. 

“You have to be honest with me Jack,” Sammy had made him promise, “you can’t lie to me anymore, no matter how hard it gets.” He smiled somewhat bashfully, and mumbled “I want to know Jack Wright, too.” 

So Jack told him everything.


	7. skewed intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ben hates mondays, maggie helps out and lily takes charge.

_ There is a reason,  _ Ben found himself thinking bitterly _ , that Mondays are universally hated.  _

He had, in fact, been having a dismal morning. He’d slept terribly which had meant he’d slept through his alarm and subsequently missed his bus. He’d forgotten to grab his breakfast on the way out the door, and his stomach was not happy about it. His hair was refusing to behave and despite having brushed them his teeth felt slimy and gross. 

He was probably going to be late for first period, for which his homework had been a struggle to get through - and the crowd of students flocked around the noticeboard and blocking the corridor was not helping. 

They were chattering wildly about something, but Ben was too busy pushing through them to take notice. It was only when he stumbled into his classroom seconds before the bell and locked eyes with Maggie Masterson that he realised what he was missing. 

“Is it -” he asked, and she nodded curtly at him with a sly grin. He swore quietly, and moved to flee back into the corridors but collided with Mr. Jensen’s broad chest. 

“Going somewhere, Mr. Arnold?” His smile was friendly, but his tone suggested Ben  _ take a seat, or else _ . He sighed and threw himself into his desk with a small huff. Sammy gave him an apologetic look, but Ben knew asking him wouldn’t be good - his friend never read the notices.    
  
He considered finding out from Maggie, but class was in full swing, and there was barely time to think about anything else lest he fall behind. He really, really couldn’t afford to fall behind. 

Ben was out of his chair the second the bell signalling the end of the period rang. He assumed Sammy would collect his stuff, and if not, he was sure nobody would want his Toy Story pencil case from 1997. 

He skidded to a halt in front of the noticeboard and scanned them until he found the one he was after. His face slowly broke into a smile as he drank in the news, and his Monday suddenly didn’t seem so bad after all. 

* * *

_ “Heathers?”  _ Sammy was saying with a look of deep confusion on his face. “Isn’t that the Winona Ryder murder movie? Who looked at that and thought ‘oh, yeah, let’s turn it into a feel good musical!” 

“It’s a masterpiece Sammy, a cult classic.” Ben was on a high, and no amount of pessimism from Sammy would ruin that. “And I, am going to be the perfect J.D.” 

“Who on Earth aspires to be a murderer!” Sammy clearly didn’t understand anything about musical theatre or acting in general. 

“It’s a brilliant role,” Ben tried to ignore him, “and I was born to play it. Charming, beautiful, madly in love. I’m telling you Sammy, it’s going to be - “ 

“Serial killery.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “You’re missing the point!” 

“Undoubtedly.”    


Ben sighed, and took a thoughtful bite of his apple. “Maggie’s the obvious shoo-in for Heather Chandler, but I wonder who..” 

His eyes settled on a girl sitting across the yard. They seemed to more often than not these days. A plan was forming in Ben’s mind, so suddenly that he hadn’t even noticed Sammy flinch and choke on his own lunch. He watched as the girl waved to her friends, picked up a small stack of books she had sitting next to her, and walked towards the library building. It was so obvious, so perfect.

If only he had a way to convince her to audition. 

* * *

Sammy was sure he was going to wake up at some point. He had to. He’d walked into school that morning feeling more than a little apprehensive, but when he’d walked passed Jack and Maggie by their lockers, both of them had thrown him a “Hey Sammy!” and a smile and. 

This was. Something else. 

Ben had been preoccupied the entire morning, and hadn’t even stopped to ask Sammy how he was feeling - probably didn’t even remember that Sammy had feigned an illness over the weekend. He got like that, often. Sammy knew Ben loved him, and wanted him around, but he had a one-track mind, which admittedly was fine by Sammy. 

He’d gone home with Ben that night, and they’d dutifully done their homework before microwaving some burritos and collapsing onto Ben’s bed. Betty was working late, so Sammy stayed and watched a movie with Ben until she arrived. His friend could stay home alone, had been for years, but Sammy knew he preferred his company.    
  
He was glad they were watching a movie though, because his mind was a million miles away, fixed to a note he’d found stuck to his English homework.  _ Blue looks good on you _ , the note had simply said. Sammy knew there was a reason he’d liked this shirt. 

* * *

“How did you know?” Sammy had asked Jack, lazily drawing a circle on his arm in the dark the weekend before. “That I’d be okay with this.” 

Jack had hummed thoughtfully before answering. Despite the amount of furniture that dotted the room, they had settled for laying on the floor, Sammy half on top of Jack who was sans a shirt. “I didn’t.” He seemed to pause for longer than was strictly necessary and then continued. “I didn’t think you would hate me for it - well. Hoped so anyway. The way you,” he hesitated again. “The way you look at Ben sometimes, I just thought that. Well.” 

Sammy turned red, but Jack thankfully didn’t seem to notice.    
  
“For a while, I thought the two of you were secretly madly in love, he’s a great actor so why wouldn’t be able to hide something like that. Then I overheard him telling Kirk about how he would murder Batman for Emily Potter.” 

Sammy had to laugh at that, and Jack seemed to relax a little. “Sounds like Ben.” 

“I guess I figured that even if you hated me, it would be worth it to. To know for sure. I didn’t expect you to kiss me back.” 

“Me either,” admitted Sammy quietly. “Not that. Not that I ever expected to have the chance to in the first place, but well.” He looked up at Jack, and realised with a start that he could kiss him again, right then, if he wanted to. So he did. 

“Shame I can’t tell Ben you think he’s a great actor. He would never shut up about it.” 

“Maggie would murder me,  _ please  _ don’t tell him.” 

Yeah. This was pretty nice. 

* * *

“I think Emily should audition for Veronica.” Maggie had been seated in the corner, specifically so she wouldn’t be bothered. Surely hunched over a book in a beanbag didn’t scream ‘please approach me Ben Arnold,’ but the kid had no clue. 

Maggie gifted him with a glance over her reading glasses before dog-earring her page and closing the book. Truman Capote could wait.    
  
“You expect me to, to what?” 

Ben was bouncing nervously, looking around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “You owe me, Maggie,” he whispered, after that stunt you pulled with the -    
  
“It was funny!” she protested. “People laughed! I said I was sorry!” 

“You ruined Grease!” his voice had risen sharply and Maggie pulled him down to her level before he could continue what was sure to be one of Ben’s patented, inspired rants about how horrible she was as a person. 

“Quiet Arnold,” she hissed. “If it’ll make you stop whingeing then fine, I’ll help you convince her.” 

Ben’s entire face seemed to light up, and he moved to fling himself onto Maggie in a hug. She pushed him before he could touch her and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner.   
  
“Calm down, Benny. I’ll talk to her, but she’s gotta get the role herself. You know how Mr. Sheffield is, he won’t just hand it to anybody.” she added “I’m not convincing her to date you either,” as an after though. 

Ben frowned, as though he hadn’t thought it through that far yet. “I mean, who else would he even give it to? Do you know who else is auditioning?” 

Maggie shook her head ‘no’ but was still not convinced. “I know Katie’s got her eyes on Martha, and there’s no way Cynthia or Mandy could pull of Veronica.” She was being sincere, but the thing was “Veronica’s such a big role. Can Emily even sing?” 

Ben realised he had overlooked a very, very important flaw in his plan. 

* * *

Jack showed up to school on Thursday wearing heavy eyeliner, and Sammy felt his resolve crumble away. 

* * *

It was Lily of all people who ended up approaching Emily. She’d been eating peanut butter and celery - crunchy, her go-to after school snack - when Jack and Maggie had entered the kitchen mid-scheme. 

  
“What’s this about Potter?” She’d asked it casually, as though she didn’t spend eighty per cert of her waking life thinking about the other girl, and all of her nights dreaming about her. If Jack or Maggie thought it curious that she was interested in their conversation, they didn’t let on.    
  
Jack snatched a stalk of celery, and ignored Lily’s protests as he crunched it loudly. “Ben Arnold wants to convince her to audition for the musical.” 

Lily scoffed. “Why do you care what Ben Arnold wants?”   
  
She watched her brother and his girlfriend exchange a glance, and sighed. “Forget I asked.” 

They filled her in on their plan, and Lily was almost disappointed in how convoluted and useless it was. “You know, for two seemingly intelligent people, you sure are really dense sometimes.” 

“Oh, because you have a better way to get Emily into a mini skirt and onto that stage?” Jack glared at his sister, “because I’d love to hear it.” 

Lily’s ears had perked up at the combination of the words ‘emily’ and ‘miniskirt’ and in an instant, she’d made a decision. “Sounds like you need a real woman to get the job done.” 

She sauntered out of the room before Jack could throw something at her, and decidedly ignored Maggie’s protests. 

This was something she could get behind.    


* * *

“You do musicals?” Emily looked up with a start. She had been enjoying the sun in her free period, and was usually quite alone out here. Lily Wright was standing off to the side, gazing uncaringly at her, an unlit cigarette between her fingers. 

“Um, well I mean my grandmother really loves - “ 

“I didn’t ask about your grandmother.” The words were sharp, and Emily flinched as though Lily had slapped her. She didn’t know why, but she felt uncomfortable around the girl. It was an unwelcome feeling, maybe something about her eyes. Lily seemed to realise she’d been a bit brusque, and apologised. 

“My brother’s girlfriend - you know, Maggie Masterson? She thinks you should audition.” 

“For the. For the musical?” 

Lily resisted the urge to roll her eyes, or snap at Emily, because what would that achieve. “She thinks you’d suit Veronica. So can you sing?” 

“A little,” Emily admitted, her face scrunching up as she thought about all she knew about the musical. “Veronica’s the lead, right? Surely there’s somebody else.” 

Lily shrugged and lit her cigarette. “Maybe. But I hear Ben Arnold’s keen for a different leading lady.” 

_ Ben Arnold.  _

Emily nodded thoughtfully, and turned her gaze back to her discarded homework. “When’s the audition?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking around, folks!   
> ben is so...not...a j.d that i really needed to shove this in. i feel like noah would /kill/ meant to be yours. hm.


	8. aprons and auditions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tip your waiters, help your pals with auditions, and if a girl punches you in the face? she's just not that into you (so stop stalking her.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has given me hell, and I'm tired of looking at it, thanks for sticking with me.

It shouldn’t have surprised anybody that once Greg Frickard had caught wind of Emily auditioning that he would suddenly find himself interested in all things theater. 

Yet Sammy still had to hear the same Ben-rant atleast thirty two times the following week. 

“The only acting he’s even good at-”

“Is acting like an ass, yeah. I know.” 

“Does he think somebody like Emily, who clearly hates him, and is way too intelligent and beautiful and and, whatever! is going to just fall madly in love with him because -” 

Sammy’s attention wandered, because as attentive and supportive a friend as he tried to be, it was the thirty second time he’d heard this rant. And well. Greg Frickard was honestly the last person he wanted to be thinking about. What a waste of oxygen. 

It was the Saturday afternoon before auditions, which were to be held the following morning in their school auditorium. Sammy had been scheduled to work that evening, but had promised Ben, as he always did, to spend the afternoon helping him practice. Not that Ben needed it, really. There were hardly any students at their school who cared about musicals, let alone male students. Ben was by-far the obvious choice for male lead. 

Even if he weren’t, he wore the kind of confidence on-stage that Sammy could only dream of. His dancing was rather exaggerated and comical, although he made up for it with the utter sincerity in his singing.    
Sammy had spent more than one afternoon weeping over something Ben had sung at him.    
  
He was pathetic, really. 

The point was, that Ben Arnold was a phenomenal actor, and there was no way in hell that somebody like Greg Frickard was going to steal the lead from him. 

Especially if Ben thought he could have the chance to perform opposite Emily Potter. 

Betty ended up driving Sammy to work around 5, despite his half-hearted protests. It was an unusually warm evening, so Rose’s was particularly busy with dinner-guests. Sammy had been delegated the double-task of running-drinks and seating customers, and so spent most of his shift running up and down, without a moment to spare. His mind had slipped far from thoughts of Ben and auditions and high school drama, until the high school drama brought itself to his shift. 

Sammy had finished his dinner break, and was tapping off his co-worker, when he was waved over to a table full of teenagers.

“Hey! Sammy! Over here!” His heart rate spiked, and he recognised Jack’s voice. He jogged over to the table, where he found Jack, Lily, Maggie, Emily and a table full of snacks and scripts. 

“Auditioning?” Sammy asked Emily, as though he hadn’t heard about nothing else for the past week.    
  
She smiled a little uncertainly at him, “yeah. I’m, uh. Having some trouble with the practice scene? Maggie said she’d help me out.” 

“I play a mean J.D,” Maggie said with pride, puffing out her chest.    
  
“I said I would do it,” said Lily a little dreamily, and Sammy laughed at Jack’s scrowl. 

“You just wanted an excuse to - “ 

“Be helpful?” suggested Lily, and Emily stifled a giggle, which seemed to please Lily. 

Jack groaned, and Sammy grinned at them, pulling out his order pad. “Can I get you guys anything else?” 

“Waffle fries!” Lily shouted a little too excitedly, and cried out as Jack snatched the menu away from her. “Don’t complain! You ate all of mine.” 

“I am a growing boy,” he said smugly, which earned him a “you’re a growing pain in my-” which in turn earned Lily a menu to her head. 

“Two serves of waffle fries,” said Sammy, taking note with a smile. “On me. Maggie? Emily?” 

He returned to the counter a few minutes later and tapped in their order with a sideways glance at his co-worker Reagan.    
“Friends of yours?” she asked him casually, and he hesitated before nodding. 

“I’ll take the walk-ins, ran it by Rose already.” He could’ve hugged her, but instead just gave her a small smile and told her “they may need extra ketchup.” 

* * *

Jack had been set on spending his Saturday night tackling an essay he’d neglected for football the night before, when Maggie had phoned him up, and invited him and Lily along to Rose’s to help Emily with her lines.

He’d agreed without a moment's hesitation. 

“This has nothing to do with the fact that Sammy Steven’s works at Rose’s does it?” he could practically hear her raised eyebrow through the phone. 

He sighed dramatically and declared “some things are just more important than homework.” 

“Like Sammy in an apron.” 

“I’m so glad we understand each other.” 

Lily had declined the invitation, until the words ‘Emily’ and ‘I’m paying’ had left Jack’s mouth. Predictable. 

Maggie had picked them up around 8, and Emily was visibly nervous, an emotion that was strange on her. In all the time Jack had known her (which was, admittedly, not too long) he’d never seen her looking anything other than cool, calm and collected. 

He opened the door for her, kissing her hand as she stood up. “Your fries await, Veronica Sawyer.” 

She flushed a little, and Maggie scoffed, “such a gentleman,” her voice dripping in sarcasm. He tackled her with a cry, and peppered her face with kisses, lest she think he loved her any less. 

“Are they always like this?” Emily asked Lily with a giggle.    
  
“Unfortunately.” 

Jack had been slightly disappointed when Sammy had been absent, he was sure he’d said he was working. Maybe he was in the kitchen, or had seen him and ran, or maybe he’d gotten hurt and gone home? 

Maggie squeezed his hand, which he took to mean he was acting a little strangely, and he tried really hard to be present in the moment. 

He wasn’t sure why Emily was nervous, she wasn’t bad at all. Her voice cracked every time she had to swear, but Lily had decided to coach her through it, and was doing so with true Lily-gusto. It had some of the other patrons giving them strange looks, but it wasn’t long before the place had cleared out anyway.    
  
Sammy had appeared at one point, and Jack’s entire night had suddenly improved substantially. The extra waffle fries definitely helped with that. He’d even brought them out eight tubs of ketchup, which was frankly more than he, or Lily, deserved. 

And the apron  **was** cute. Real cute. Not that he was all that surprised. 

He was trying really, really hard to concentrate on his friends, but his stupid, hormonal brain kept wondering how hard it would be to drag Sammy to the parking lot and make out with him against a wall. Only for a minute, or two, or twenty. 

Maybe not a good idea. 

When Sammy handed them a bill for ten dollars at the end of the night, which anybody taking a glance at their table could tell was a severe underpayment, Jack had stuffed fifty dollars in his hands and ignored the protests. The girls followed suit with varying amounts of their own, and Sammy seemed unable to speak for a moment. 

“Buy yourself something nice, sweetness.” Jack had winked at him, and Sammy had stuttered out a ‘y-yeah,’ before weakly waving back at the retreating group.    
  
Jack could hear Sammy’s coworker chuckle “Friends, huh?” as the door slammed shut behind them. 

The apron really was way too cute. 

* * *

Ben had struggled to sleep that night, which wasn’t helped by the fact he’d stress eaten an entire tub of chocolate ice cream. His stomach kept him up all night, and when he’d finally drifted off it seemed like only seconds before him alarm was insisting he wake up. 

He would have ignored if for anything else, but as it was, he dragged himself into the shower and stood under the steady stream of over-hot water and sighed. He knew he’d be fine - even if he didn’t end up with the lead - but that wasn’t going to stop him from feeling stressed. 

The audition itself was split into three parts. The learning of a short dance routine and chorus song in the morning for those vying for minor or ensemble parts, and an afternoon split into singing and acting auditions for those aiming for leads. More people had turned up for the audition than Ben had envisioned, and he was sure that it was because of Emily. The morning passed by relatively stress-free, the highlight being Greg Frickard forgetting the words for his part of the ensemble song, and a girl who’d run out crying because she couldn’t perform a particularly difficult dance move (she's nearly taken out Pete Myers.)

By the time lunch has rolled around, Ben’s feeling slightly calmer. Sammy had bought a pile of snacks from Ben, Kirk and Dwayne despite not auditioning himself, and Ben once again found himself regretting food-related choices. The sheer amount of potato chips he'd consumed was probably illegal, and slipping into a coma would be much more convenient right then.   
  
He was considering taking a short nap before the afternoon, until a shadow fell over their large group. He sat up quickly, completely expecting to be dealing with Frickard and his friends, but relaxed when he realised it was the Wrights, Maggie and Emily instead. His stomach twisted as he smiled at Emily, and she waved eagerly at him.

“You ready, Benny?” Maggie had collapsed dramatically next to him, and picked up a discarded chocolate bar. She made a face when she read the sugar contents, but took a big bite anyway. 

Ben smiled a little nervously, “If I said I was worried about Frickard, would you believe me?” 

Maggie scoffed, but Emily was the one who replied. “Greg Fuckard has nothing on you Ben Arnold. You’re a star.” 

Ben spluttered to reply, but by the time he could think of something coherent to say back, she’d turned to join in on a conversation between Jack and Sammy. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and turned back to Maggie. 

“What’re you singing?”    
  
“World burn.” 

“You  _ would.” _

“What can I say,” she laughed, “Regina George is an icon.” 

Ben smiled weakly and sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon. 

* * *

He need not have worried. He’d been paired with Maggie for their acting audition, and the two had completely won over everybody on the first interaction between Veronica and J.D. He was feeling quietly confident, especially after Jack Wright of all people had come up to congratulate him after. If Greg Frickard’s face was anything to go by, he’d had it in the bag. 

  
Frickard himself had been surprisingly not terrible, although Ben supposed he did slimy, pretentious git well, and Cynthia Higgenbaum who’d been playing opposite him certainly knew how to act. Ben had been backstage during Emily’s audition with Kirk, but she looked pleased with herself afterwards, and Ben had little doubts she’d been perfect.    
  
They were all ushered into the audience for their vocal auditions, and Mr. Sheffield called them up one-by-one. Alphabetical order had Ben on the stage first, and he stomped on his nerves and climbed the steps. 

What followed was something that needed to be seen to be believed. Ben could've been first, or last. It wouldn't have mattered. He'd had it in the bag the second the music started. He commanded the stage as though he’d been born with the sole purpose of doing so. His voice rose and fell with military precision, he slipped into character, his acting prowess shining through the lyrics of the song, and twirled magnificently in time to each note. He didn't skip a beat and he could practically see Mr. Sheffield’s face beaming up at him, which served to fuel his excitement. He was flushed and panting as the final melodic note fell, but the resounding applause that followed (led by Emily and Maggie, of all people) had him practically glowing with pride. Sammy gave him a thumbs up as he collapsed back into his seat, and he grinned broadly to himself. All that he needed now was for Emily to prove to everybody how wonderful she was, and all would be perfect. 

* * *

Emily was trying hard not to show her nerves. The morning had gone fine, it was fine. The scene with Kirk had even been okay, although he was clearly better at this than she was. Lily, Maggie and the others had all been incredibly supportive and helpful, and she didn’t want to let them down. More than anything, she was glad that Maggie hadn’t been going for the role of Veronica, because if that were the case? She’d have no chance. Her audition with Ben had been so real, so believable, she’d felt like she were witnessing an actual scene plucked from their own lives.

Emily was one of the last to perform her vocal audition, and she silently cursed her parents for gifting her with a ‘P’ surname. Her name had been eventually called though, and she gathered herself up and headed onstage. 

Mr. Sheffield had been so excited when she’d enquired about auditions, and had been eager to help her choose a song. He was really rather adorable, for a teacher. They’d settled on a character Emily had found herself obsessed with most of her life. It wasn’t the greatest fit for this particular audition, but Miss Honey from the ‘Matilda’ musical was something Emily was sure she could sell. Maggie had been encouraging, and that had been enough. She was here now, at any rate. The lights were bright, her nerves great, and she could just make out the face of Ben Arnold shining below in the audience.

The pre-recorded music started, she opened her mouth, and proceeded to sell it. 

* * *

The results were posted before first period the next morning, and if the sound that came out of Ben Arnold’s mouth as he tackled Emily Potter to the ground with a hug and a cheer were anything to go by, he was reasonably pleased about them.

Whether or not that unadulterated joy would last was a different story, because as Greg Frickard stared at his name scribbled next to ‘Ram Sweeny,’ Ben Arnold’s happiness was far, far from his mind.


	9. alterations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lemons, arguments and graffiti.
> 
> (cw for homophobic slurs in this one.)

When Jack Wright was a small child, his neighbour had owned an over-sized lemon tree that hung over the back fence of his families garden. All year, it would produce more lemons than their elderly neighbour could feasibly consume, and so Jack and Lily spent many afternoons at his request finding uses for them. More than once, they attempted a lemonade stand, to varying degrees of success. They would bake cakes, and concoct a variety of slices, and sweets. They would race to see who could pick up the most in a one-minute time frame, and protest loudly when they weren’t the winner. They used them as tennis balls to perfect their throwing arms. It was simple, easy. Wonderful.   
  
Jack would shimmy up the tree, and pelt an indignant Lily who stood stomping her tiny feet down below. She would’ve willingly joined him up the tree, but a severe fear of heights held her back every time. She would wander off with a huff, and secretly hope he got stuck up there for good. (She was always glad when he _ did  _ come home. He was mean, but he was still her brother.)   
  
When Jack turned six, his neighbour tugged him aside as a rite-of-passage, and whispered the secret to growing a strong, magnificent tree, and Jack couldn’t stop giggling every time he pulled down his pants to help keep it alive. If Lily had known, she would’ve been less keen to consume anything from the tree, but as it were, it was  _ boys knowledge only.  _

(Jack could vividly recall the time they’d been locked outside, and Lily had desperately needed to use the bathroom. Jack had teased her that he could pee without a bathroom, and Lily had insisted on attempting to pee standing up, because like hell Jack could do something she couldn’t. 

It was not something she repeated in a hurry.)

Jack was fifteen when his elderly neighbour passed away. It took only weeks for his family to sell the house, knocking down the glorious tree in the process. It felt like he’d lost more than just a neighbour and a tree full of lemons. It wasn’t long before Jack was gone from there, too. 

The new house also had a lemon tree, not nearly big enough to climb, but it still boasted a bountiful harvest of lemons. Jack would sit in the patchy shade under the miniature tree, surrounded by dozens of discarded fruit. He would hold them in his hands, spin them like tops, squeeze them tight, throw them at the wall, juggle them lightly from palm to palm.

He would raise them to his lips and bite hard into the skin, ripping them open with his too-sharp teeth. His gums would ache, as he tore the skin off, and shoved piece after piece of the tangy flesh into his mouth, his face barely even flinching at the familiarity of the sour string.

The pain almost made him forget how much everything else in his life sucked. Almost made him forget how much it hurt just to exist in a world that didn’t want him. Almost made him forget how he’d never be good enough.Almost made him forget that it didn’t matter, because eventually they’d all be beaten down and tossed away, regardless of how much joy they brought to anybody else’s lives.

Almost. 

* * *

“You are not seriously bringing that to school.” 

“Of course not, mom.” 

“Is it possible for you not to be an ass, for just five seconds.” 

Lily shrugged, before slipping the cap onto her thermos and tucking it into her bag. “Don’t pretend like you care about my wellbeing all of a sudden.” 

At that, Jack paused. “I care about you Lils.” 

“Sure thing,” she exited the room. 

Jack bit his lip and sighed, running his fingers through his un-brushed, slightly damp hair. If Lily thought bringing coffee laced with whiskey to school on a Friday morning was acceptable, well. It wasn’t like he was perfect. He did grab the remainder of the bottle and hide it where she wouldn’t easily be able to find it before grabbing his own bag and slipping out the door behind her. He had an essay for his history class due third period, and hadn’t bothered proof reading it the night before. He’d spent too many hours stalking Ben Arnold on instagram, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sammy in the background of his photos to bother finishing up unimportant things like that.   
He’d been rewarded for his efforts, and if the indignant responses he’d received from Sammy were anything to go by, he’d received his desired reaction too. 

It was easy. To get reactions out of him. They always seemed to be the right ones. 

He could catch his eye across the classroom, and make him sink into his chair with a flush. He could brush against his hand in the corridor, and feel the literal goosebumps that littered his skin as a result. He could vividly picture the attempted suppression of a grin every time he noticed something Jack had left for him. He couldn’t stop hearing the way Sammy sighed Jack’s name into his ear when they were alone. 

It was terribly distracting. 

He always wanted to be alone with Sammy. 

Across the lunch table would have to do. 

It had started to drizzle as Jack jogged to the front entrance of the main building just before the first bell. Unusual for that time of year, but not unheard of. It’d make training that afternoon just that little bit more of a drama. He loved football, he really did. But spending any more time than needed with his idiot team-mates was less than ideal, and rain meant showers before home were a necessity. 

He forced his face into a smile as he spotted Maggie, and leaped to sweep her into an exaggerated embrace. “Maggie, my one and only! I barely survived the night without you.” 

“Sir. Jack, it is an honour. Please save me from the horror that is your sister. I fear she plans to tear us apart!” 

Jack let out an overly enthused gasp, and held his heart, and a group of students passed, eyeing them wearily. “However shall we get through his, my love!” 

Maggie moved to respond, but was pushed forcefully into a locker by the notorious villain of their story Greg Frickard. “Charming,” she muttered, flipping him off as he passed. He pretended not to notice, and Jack rolled his eyes. “Clearly he’s threatened by my beauty.” 

“Oh Jack, you are nothing if not a charmer yourself.” 

They proceeded to their class, whingeing about their (lack) of completed homework, and Jack’s mind had slipped far from Sammy Stevens, and Greg Frickard, and Lily Wright, the latter of whom was probably passed out in a bathroom by now. 

Until he was violently reminded by running straight into Sammy, who was clambering out the classroom door, his face paler than Jack had ever seen it. 

“Hey-hey.” He grabbed his arm, and steadied him in an attempted gentle gesture. “You alright, Stevens?” 

“Y-yeah.” Sammy was shaking, whether or not from the contact with Jack, he wasn’t sure, but his darting eyes and wringing hands suggested otherwise.    
  
“Can I help?” He thrust his books and bag at Maggie, who moved in quiet understanding to stake out their usual table, as Jack closed the door behind her, trapping him and Sammy in the corridor. “Let me help? Where’s Ben?” 

Sammy shook his head, and Jack was struck by how little the other boy had said. He’d thought they were getting better at communicating, thought they’d pushed past awkward silences. He thought about pressing further, but decided against it. He pursed his lips, and moved out of Sammy’s way. He seemed to hesitate, before ducking his head, and hiding behind his floppy, uneven bangs. 

“It’s stupid.” 

Jack glanced around the now-empty corridor, and reached out his hand to touch Sammy’s forearm, only for a second, but he hoped it was enough. “It’s not stupid.” 

* * *

Somebody had graffitied Sammy’s table. 

Well, it wasn’t Sammy’s table. It was a common piece of property, in a random classroom in their school. But Sammy spent most of his time at that particular desk, so it was by all terms, Sammy’s table. 

They’d written five words, in squished, sloppy black writing.  _ Sammy Stevens is a fag.  _ Thick, precise, unlined. No doubt who it was for.

It was Sammy’s table. 

Jack was angry. 

He balled up his fists, and slammed them against the wall, causing the lockers to rattle, and Sammy to jump. “How dare they,” he spat, moving towards the classroom. “How fucking dare they I’ll-” 

“No!” 

Sammy grabbed him, and he felt himself tense in his grip. “It’s not worth it. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It fucking does matter.” 

“Jack.” Sammy was frowning, “if you go in there and lose it, what is everybody going to think?” 

“If you think that for a second, I care about - “ 

“But you do.” 

And Sammy was right. Jack hated to admit it, but Sammy was right. He wasn’t going to march in there, he wasn’t going to demand the owner of the shitty handwriting own up to it, and he wasn’t going to show him exactly what he thought of them. No matter how badly he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted Sammy to know that some idiot highschoolers opinion of him didn’t matter in the slightest. Nor the fact that he very much seemed to like kissing Jack. It wasn’t a fucking crime. It didn’t fucking matter.

But it did matter. 

He forced himself to give in, to soften his expression, and to nod slowly. “We’re going to remove the graffiti.” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s not going to happen again.” 

“It will.” 

“Yeah. Probably.” 

* * *

It was utterly ridiculous how much a couple scribbled words on a table could completely shatter Jack’s good mood, daily scheduled argument with Lily aside. The rest of the day went by in a blur, and he didn’t even react when Maggie informed him she’d found Lily in the third floor bathroom slumped over a toilet seat, sobbing and chucking up the entire contents of her last two meals. Sammy had begged Jack not to mention it to Ben, who had been mysteriously absent during their first period class, and Jack had hesitantly agreed. 

They’d barely exchanged glances the rest of the day, even when Jack and Maggie had joined Ben, Sammy and Emily for lunch. Sammy was being unusually quiet too, although that was much less noticeable to everybody but Jack. 

When Jack had performed less than stellar during practice that afternoon, he’d barely even noticed the sneers from his teammates, (despite their best efforts to ground his face into the sloppy dirt puddles) or the lecture he’d received from their coach about focusing on the goal: winning.

Winning wasn’t the goal. Surviving this fucked up town and getting the hell out of there with their sanity intact was going to be much harder. 

Especially if he were to convince Sammy that he were worth it. Because he couldn’t stop thinking he wasn’t worth it.    
There was no way the words had been about Jack - they were much more likely about Ben. But still, the intent was there. They thought Sammy was wrong. Jack wanted so desperately to tell Sammy he wasn’t wrong. He was perfect. He was perfect, and Jack was hopelessly obsessed with him. It made little difference, but there it was. The only thing he knew for certain. 

He wanted Sammy to be safe and happy. He didn’t want to have to look at Sammy’s pale face, as he shook with anger, and frustration, and fought back tears because of some idiot who didn’t mean shit.

It was because of him. It was all his fault. 

He barely even registered the  _ ping  _ of his phone as a message from Sammy’s number rolled in at half past eight.  **I’m sorry for worrying you,** was all it said. And Jack couldn’t bring himself to reply.

* * *

The notes change to letters after that. 

_ Dear Sammy Stevens,  _ they would all start,  _ here are all the reasons why it doesn’t matter if you’re a fag.  _

_ Dear Sammy Stevens, today’s going to be a good day, and here’s why.  _

_ Dear Sammy Stevens, I tried googling for terms to try put meaning to the mess of things I feel when I think of you, these are a few that came close. _

_ Dear Sammy Stevens, I believe in us, and I believe in you. _

_ Dear Sammy Stevens, I hope you know that every day I fall a little more in love with you. _


End file.
